Chapter 21
BANE
The street we park on is gray. That’s the only way I can describe it. It’s dark and gloomy. Even the sunset is pale and dank. Like a rusty pipe.
Like the ones I used to find as I dug.
Look at you, a useless little cretin. Working so hard and yet going nowhere.
My eyes blink as I clutch my stomach. The knife I have in my pocket does nothing to assuage the sickness I feel. Everything about this feels familiar, and yet it’s not.
It’s a total mindfuck.
“Come,” Georgiy says softly, reaching out and threading his hand with mine.
It gives me the strength to get out of the car and make my way toward the run-down house.
This place has been abandoned for years. It’s set to be demolished, but no one has yet. When Lex searched for who owned it, he only found a shell company owned by a shell company, and so on and so forth.
Ellery is sure, though, so here we are.
And the closer I get, the more nauseated I feel.
My eyes take in the overgrown grass, the broken windows, the front door hanging on by a thread.
I force my legs to keep moving, to carry me closer and closer.
We slip through the chain-link fence and walk up the crooked porch.
The minute I step through the front door, I can’t breathe.
Everything is vandalized—paint on the walls, beer cans scattered on the floor—but I know where to go.
I’m on autopilot.
Something’s almost pulling me forward.
I move away from Georgiy, my fingers slipping from his, and wander toward the kitchen, my hand landing on a door and twisting.
I’m panting now, struggling to breathe, but it’s like I know exactly what to do.
Like I remember.
The door squeaks open, and I step into a pantry.
My eyes swivel around the broken shelves, the musty scent almost too strong.
And then I glance down and see it.
A hatch door, mostly hidden, but I know it’s there.
My lungs hiss as I reach down and pull it up, the hinges creaking as I open it, staring down into nothingness.
There’s a ladder. Nothing more. My vision whites out, and I feel strong arms wrap around me.
“What is it?” Georgiy asks softly. “What have you found?”
I can’t speak, just stare down into the hole.
A place I know I’ve been before. Why? Henry lived here. Virgin too. Emma and Samvel. Did I live here as well? I must have. I know this place. I fucking know it.
Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.
And yet I go, my body twisting from those familiar arms and down into the place I belong.
Nothing. You are nothing.
As my hands hit each rusty rung, I feel myself start to struggle to breathe. Even as my legs carry me down, farther and farther away from everything I once knew.
I glance up and see someone standing at the opening—an ugly, shadowed face, a twist of red lips, an evil laugh.
Then suddenly, it’s dark.
And I’m alone.
My hands trail along the dirt walls, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. I can hear footsteps above me, but they’re muted. No one knows I’m here.
I’m invisible.
I belong down here.
That’s what he said.
My hand grabs onto the makeshift shovel, the one made from pipes and screws, and I make my way to the end of the tunnel, using it to dig. To try to escape, to try to find a way out.
You’ll never be free.
But I hold on to hope. When I get out, when I see the sunlight again, I’m going to do things. I’m going to…
I stop digging.
I don’t know what I’ll do.
I was never good at much. Once I had a pet rabbit, a cute little thing until it died. After that, I played with it in my free time, prodding it, peeling it apart. Discovering, learning. Until he took it from me.
Burned it.
Sasha.
Gone.
Just like me. I’m nothing. I don’t even have a name.
Nothing, just like the blackness surrounding me.
I continue digging, my eyes watering from the dust, from the way my fingers cut into the rocks. I can feel blood dripping down my wrist—a tickle, a bother. But I’m making progress. I am.
I may be small, but I can survive. I will. I won’t ever give up.
“Bane,” a deep voice says, and I stiffen, keeping my gaze forward, hiding the tool in my hand. “Bane.”
They approach, dark, foreboding. A deep, oppressive shadow.
I feel a hand touch my shoulder, steady, warm.
Familiar.
“Umnyashka. Come back to me.”
I blink and turn, sniffling loudly when I see who’s behind me. Georgiy. Not that shadow, not Death.
No, it’s my reaper. He’s down here with me. Hunched over, his hair brushing the filthy ceiling. He came all the way here to rescue me.
“Where are you?” he asks, and I open my mouth and close it, trying like hell to find the words. I don’t know where I am. The past, the present? Who knows anymore?
His palms cup my cheeks, and he holds me steadily, his thumbs stroking just under my wet eyes.
“I lived here,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“He kept me here.”
“Yes.”
“Death.”
“Mm.”
I rub my cheek against his hand, and he pulls me into his chest, the scent of him grounding me.
Safe.
Georgiy is safe.
This was never my home; it was just a holding area. But the man holding me now is my haven. He’s what I’ve craved for so long.
I let him hold me against him as I try to make sense of all of this, realizing I led myself down here, and attempted to continue to dig. To find a way to escape.
It was like I’d never left.
This dirt prison. This hell.
But Death isn’t down here with me now. He’s far away.
I’m safe.
“Come. We don’t need to stay. We are leaving,” Georgiy says as he guides me back to the ladder, a flashlight in his hand. I can’t help but look around, taking it in. The scratches in the walls, the holes in the floor. My eyes catch on an alcove, and I remember sleeping there.
So many days and nights here. So many that they blur together.
How long was I here?
Why did he put me down here? What did I do?
That question plagues me sometimes. I can’t think about it too long or I’ll start to lose my mind.
“Come,” Georgiy prompts once more, putting my hands on the ladder.
I move up toward the light, toward Kit and Jax and Casey, who are all standing there, waiting for me.
I remember this kitchen, bits and pieces of it. When I was above ground, I would eat breakfast here, dinners too. But they’re just flickers of memory, nothing more than the clink of a spoon on a bowl or the sound of the microwave closing.
I don’t remember more than that.
Those must have been the days I was loved. Or at least wanted.
When they put me beneath the ground, it was clear I was to be disposed of. Forgotten.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Casey asks softly.
“No. I don’t.” I can’t. I don’t want to be here any longer. It’s painful, too much. Maybe in a while, maybe when I’ve had a minute, but not right now. Not here.
So they just nod and watch as Georgiy leads me out of the kitchen to the front door. He turns, glancing back at the men.
“Burn this to the ground,” he says, his voice low and angry.
I don’t protest, just let him guide me outside and toward the car, and as we drive away, I see the flickering of flames.
My past is soon to be nothing more than ash.
A place I lived in for so long, a place where I struggled to survive is being eaten away by fire.
Pretty soon, it will be nothing but burnt and charred frames, wisps of paper and dust. Will the people who come to clean it up find the tunnel underneath?
Will they see the evidence of where I was buried alive? Will they care?
No one seemed to care all those years ago. No one came looking for me, no one helped.
I was left to rot.
I peer out the back window and see the flames growing higher, sirens wailing in the distance.
I don’t mind that it’s burning, that it’s soon all going to be reduced to rubble.
But a part of me knows that there’s no going back to find what I need. That avenue to who I once was is gone. Now all I’m left with are questions that someone out there knows the answers to.
And I need to find them.
I need to know.
Georgiy insists we head back to the hotel room. We won’t be doing anything else the rest of the night.
No one objects after seeing the state I was in when Georgiy dragged me from that hole. And so we make our way through the lobby in silence, the five of us converging on the elevators and making our way to our rooms.
It’s only when the bedroom door is shut behind us that I feel wobbly, like everything is sideways.
Georgiy says nothing, just leads me to the bathroom, stripping me of my clothes and settling me on the edge of the tub as water slowly fills it.
He is always cleaning me, taking care of me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and Georgiy just nods.
“Do not thank me for something you should expect.”
That makes me tear up. Just weeks ago, I assumed Georgiy didn’t want me, and here he is telling me to expect this from him.
“Come, sit in the water before it grows cold.”
He helps me sink into it, the water warm against my aching skin. His hands lather up with soap, and he begins to wash me, slow strokes soothing me as much as washing away the memories.
I can still smell the scent of dirt, but it slowly dissipates as he runs water over my head and face, making sure no traces of my past exist.
And when I emerge, I feel like I can breathe once more. Although my stomach still aches and I don’t feel well.
The last time I felt like this…well, it was when I finally escaped.
How I gathered the courage and clambered up the ladder without thinking, how the hatch was open.
How no one came to stop me. It was so surprising that I just stood there for ages, risking being caught.
But no one came. No one stopped me. I just pushed my way outside, the sun hitting my skin for the first time in ages.
How hot it was, how I couldn’t breathe. How overwhelming it all was.
“Come,” Georgiy says, pulling me out of the memory and toward the bed.
He’s dried me off while I was just standing there, and while I’m still naked, he does nothing more than tuck me under the covers.
“I’m ordering you something to eat.”
“Don’t bother. I don’t feel well.”
“You must eat.”