Chapter 13
DAMIANO
“Madison already ate, but are you hungry?” I ask Seth. Lights from oncoming traffic flash and weave through the car’s interior. “I am. Do you think she would want anything from that Greek place off of Washburne?”
“I’ll call her and ask.” Seth puts his phone on speaker.
We listen to it ring.
And ring. And ring.
“Maybe she’s in the bathroom,” Seth says, ending the call as Madison’s voicemail greeting comes over the speaker.
“Entirely possible.” But the little hairs on the back of my neck are raised. Her cousin posted bail, and he’s been trying to get in touch with her. What if he somehow got past the Nove guards we set up at her driveway? He has done it once before, and we still don’t know how.
“What the fuck is this?” Seth asks, tension in his voice.
I don’t take my eyes off the road, but all of my attention is on him. “What?”
“Some nonsense texts from Madison.”
“Nonsense, how?” Alarm bells clang in my head.
“The first one says, Have a milk pail beaming. The second one says, Pilates class asks soon.”
I press down harder on the gas pedal. “Who’s at the gate tonight? Kristoff and Hannah?”
“Yeah.” Seth taps on his phone. “I’m sending them up to the house now.”
“We’ll be there in ten minutes.” I stomp on the gas.
MADISON
My gaze flickers around the dusty basement. We’re surrounded by towers of books and papers. A twin bed sits in the middle of the room, and a chair. Dirty dishes taken from my own cabinets are stacked in piles at the base of the stairs.
I don’t know if the guys have gotten my texts. I don’t know if they’ll realize something is wrong.
But something is very, very wrong.
I tried to type out a warning to the guys, but I couldn’t look at the keypad without Cormac noticing. Hopefully something made sense. And if not, hopefully they’ll figure out I’m in trouble.
The fabric gag Cormac tied around my head stretches my mouth. It’s wet with my saliva and tastes like soap.
While Cormac fusses with another candle, I slide my phone into my back pocket, thankful that I put it on silent when I was out at dinner with Danica.
Cormac mutters under his breath when the lighter doesn’t immediately work. Finally, the flame catches on the wick. To think he was down here for months, lighting candles in this hoarder’s hole. He could’ve set this whole house on fire.
“That’s better.” He smiles over at me. “It’s kind of nice with the candlelight. Romantic.”
I suppress a full-body shudder. There’s nothing romantic about the dusty old books towered haphazardly against the walls, the magazines and newspapers scattered about like tinder.
Tiny brown pellets—mouse or rat droppings, I think—pile up along the stacks.
Cormac notices me looking at one of the book stacks. He picks up the top book and hefts it in his hand. “I like to read. I borrowed this one from Vivienne’s library. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
I mind very much, actually, but I can’t say one way or the other because of the gag in my mouth.
I can’t help but look longingly at the stairs leading up to the pantry.
“Now, don’t make any bad choices, little girl.” Cormac gives me a stern look, his gray eyes locked on mine. “I’m going to tie you up. Only for a bit, don’t panic.”
I’m already panicking, darting forward. If I could just get past him…
He catches me and drags me back toward a wooden chair.
It exactly matches those in the dining room.
He must have stolen it before I moved in, or maybe Great-Aunt Vivienne stored it down here.
Did she use this space? There’s an ancient bedframe with knobby posts, with a dirty mattress plopped on top of it. No sheets, just a grimy blanket.
From a pile of junk at my feet, he gathers a few thin strips of fabric. They’re nothing more than rags, really.
“Yes, I didn’t have as much time to prepare as I wanted,” Cormac mutters. “With you wanting to move those low-lifes in, it really threw off my timeline. I wanted to romance you, baby. Seduce you. Show you how good it can be. I know what you like, now. I can give you everything.”
He yanks my arms behind me and ties them to the chair. The rags are rough, like they’ve been washed and air-dried. I test the bindings, but they’re too tight; I can’t budge them.
I plead with my eyes as Cormac backs away.
“Darn it, I really wanted to do this a different way.” He shakes his head.
“Well, we’ll figure things out as we go.
In the meantime, I’ll go upstairs and get our dinner.
It’ll be nice to have something more than oranges or the little bits and pieces I’ve had to borrow from you over the past few months. ”
I cringe at the thought of him going through my refrigerator, my pantry, my cabinets.
Someone pounds on the front door.
Cormac looks up at the ceiling, frowning.
More pounding. The pounding stops, and footsteps sound above us.
My Nove guards came inside. I can hear everything from down here.
It makes me sick to think of what Cormac would have heard, day in and day out, while I was living my life in this house.
All the sexual things I did with Seth and Damiano, not to mention the hopes and vulnerabilities I shared with them.
He knows about all of it, just like he said.
It’s a huge violation—I feel so exposed.
“Ms. Greene?” a female voice calls out.
I try to respond, but only muffled noises can escape my gag.
“Quiet, Madison,” Cormac croons. “I really don’t want to hurt you, babe.”
He creeps up the rickety steps. Creak, creak, creak. Creak, creak, creak. I was hearing him, all those times the “house was settling.” I feel so stupid.
“Ms. Greene, it’s Hannah, with Nove. We’re concerned for your safety.”
I risk making sounds, rocking back and forth in the chair, trying to scream through the gag.
“Ms. Greene, is that you?” Hannah calls.
I start again, but Cormac rushes over and backhands me. My head knocks against the wall. I whimper in pain. The earlier smack against the wall upstairs, and now this one, have me reeling. Pain throbs, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I just want to close my eyes and forget.
The footsteps upstairs get closer. Are they going into the kitchen? If they do, will they see the pantry? I know now why that shelf was always in disarray—there’s no way for Cormac to put it back in order once he comes into the hidden basement.
“Darn it.” He shakes his head. “I really don’t want to hurt you, babe. Please don’t make me.”
I blink slowly through the pain. Tears stream down my cheeks. Cormac reaches out and wipes one away before it can reach the fabric gag.
I can’t help my shudder of revulsion.
His gray eyes narrow in anger. “I want to take care of you, little girl. We were made for each other. I’ve watched you for weeks, months.
I know everything you like, and I can be that for you.
I know your music, your TV shows, what you like to eat and when.
I could open a bottle of wine and put out bread and cheese every Monday while you watch Flesh and Teeth.
I’d have your blanket ready for the parts that make you jump. ”
I nod, like yes, this is all agreeable. I’d rather not argue with this absolute psycho in the flickering candlelight.
“And then,” he continues, “you can cuddle with me.”
No. No, I could never. Not him.
Soon enough, Hannah and her partner will find us down here. Seth and Damiano are already on their way; I’m certain of it.
“Ms. Greene?” Hannah calls again.
Cormac shakes his head. He goes to a crate next to the bed and pulls something out of it—a giant padlock. He takes it up the stairs with him and slips it over a metal latch before locking it in place.
“There.” He turns and smiles at me. “Now we can have some privacy.”
“Madison!” a loud voice carries through the ceiling.
My heart leaps. It’s Seth. He’s here, probably with Damiano.
I rock my chair back and forth again. I don’t care if Cormac hits me—I need my guys to know where I am.
“Madison?” Damiano’s voice calls out next.
Can they hear me? I stomp my feet against the hard, cement floor. It makes no sound, so I go back to rocking. I try to hit the wall with the chair back, to make the most noise. My arms get in the way, but I can handle a few bruises.
“Cut it out.” Cormac hurries over, fist raised.
I stare up at him defiantly, then kick toward him with one of my feet.
He yelps and jerks to the side to get out of reach. His knee catches against a stack of books. The books scatter, knocking into another stack—and one of the candles. My heart jumps into my throat—what have I done?—as the candle falls onto a pile of ancient magazines.
Flames whoosh as the magazines catch fire.
“No,” Cormac hisses, spinning around. He grabs a filthy shirt from the foot of the bed and tries to stifle the blaze.
The shirt catches fire immediately, bursting into flames in his hands. He screams.
“Madison!” Damiano calls. Someone pounds at the door.
Cormac’s sleeves are on fire. He shrieks and turns in circles, panicking. I watch in horror as he slips on another pile of magazines. His legs fly out from under him and he screams as he falls backward.
The back of his head slams directly onto the corner of the bedframe. His mouth opens once, twice, like he’s struggling to breathe, but then the light fades from his eyes. They stare, unblinking, directly at me. Is he dead? I think he’s dead.
Meanwhile, smoke fills the room. The roaring fire continues to rage.