Chapter 11
Jema
The garden is where I spend a lot of my time.
You’d think living in a home this massive there are always things to do, but there aren’t.
Salvador said I was a stay-at-home wife.
I didn’t know that was a thing, but I was down to try it out.
Turns out being a kept woman is boring. That’s when he’d suggested the library and gardens.
Since then that’s how I’ve been spending my time when Salvador isn’t home. When my husband is home, I turn into a clinger. Thankfully he doesn’t mind. If anything, he encourages it, but then when he has work, I get lonely.
I have no memory of friends, but I suppose I could ask Salvador tonight.
Nothing has come back to me, including if I had gardening skills.
I’ve fully lost my past, but at least I still know how to read.
The doctor told me to give it time and that the brain is tricky.
He keeps telling me that my brain does what it believes is best to protect me.
If that’s the case, what is my brain protecting me from? Is it that bad? I was told I fell and hit the back of my head and that’s all there was to it. As time passes, my mind can’t help but wander into the unknown, but if I focus on it too long, I get a terrible headache.
The unsolved mystery is sometimes all I can think about. What if I fell because I ran when I caught my husband cheating or I saw something I shouldn't have? I’m pretty sure this is pure boredom that’s coming up with these outrageous possibilities.
It doesn’t help that I get the sense everyone around here is keeping a secret from me. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s a darkness that lingers in the air and often around my husband. I’m not scared of him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.
I bundle up all the fresh cut flowers from the garden and take them back up to the house. When I enter through the back patio, the kitchen is empty. That is a rarity around here. Normally, the staff is buzzing around and preparing food.
I step into the butler's pantry and place the flowers down next to the sink before seeing what vases I have to use. There are a million, but my favorite isn't here. I should go check on the other arrangements while I look for it and see if they need replenishing.
That's the plan until I step out of the pantry and glance at the basement door. That door is like a giant red button I’ve been told not to push. The mystery of it only makes me want to push it more. Deciding there’s no harm in testing to see if it's unlocked, I go over to it and grab the handle.
When it doesn’t budge, I puff out an annoyed breath before a thought hits me.
I’m not sure what makes me do it, but I reach into my hair and pull out one of the pins I use to keep my long bangs out of my face when I’m gardening.
On instinct, I drop to my knees and stick the pin in the lock.
Within a few seconds, the lock pops, and the door swings open.
"Well, then," I say, laughing at myself as I stand up. Maybe I picked locks in my past because I'm shockingly good at it.
The door makes a loud squeaking sound straight out of a horror movie. Instead of being scared and running the other way, I hurry down the stairs to close the door behind me so that I'm not busted before I can get a peek around.
I’m not sure what I thought was going to be in the basement, but what I wasn't expecting is how freaking big it is. This house never ends. Part of me worries about getting lost as I explore, but there’s a security in knowing if I do, my husband will find me.
I might be in trouble, but I will be found.
While the space is big, there isn't much going on, so I’m not sure why it needs to be locked up all the time.
I notice lots of crates with boxes on them, and I’m guessing it has to do with Salvador’s work.
He said he works in imports and exports, whatever that means.
I'm tempted to look inside them, but I want to keep peeking around before someone catches me.
At the end of one of the corridors is an enormous, heavy-looking door. I try to open it, but it doesn't budge, and then I spot a keypad.
"Holy crap," I whisper, my curiosity piqued more than ever.
I stare at the keypad, but nothing happens.
Okay, clearly I’m not a hacker that can open any sort of lock.
Still, I need to find a way to get in there.
I'm dying to know what’s kept behind it.
It looks like a safe, so I hope it’s something cool like gold bars.
My mind starts coming up with lots of ideas that are each more ridiculous than the one before.
There’s a sound in the distance, and then I hear footsteps coming my way.
They don’t sound as heavy as my husband’s, but I don’t want to get caught snooping where I was told not to go.
I glance around to find somewhere to hide and see a stack of wooden boxes nearby.
It’s the best I’ve got, so I duck behind them and wait.
When the steps draw closer, I peek through one of the small cracks and see Edward with a tray of food and a bag. I watch as he punches in the code on the keypad, and I memorize it.
When the door opens, I hear a loud groan come from inside. Edward enters and closes the door behind him, and I stand there wondering if I really heard a groan. It could have been the door, and after a second, I convince myself that’s what it had to be.
Why was Edward bringing food down here? Does he have to sneak all the way to the basement to enjoy a meal in peace?
I freeze when the door opens again, quicker than I expected it to.
I watch Edward step out and notice that the bag he has over his shoulder appears lighter and the tray of food is gone.
There’s no freaking way he ate all of it that quickly. There’s a person inside that room.
I wait for Edward to lock the door and leave and then wait a few minutes longer before I slip out from behind the boxes. My heart hammers against my chest, and the darkness that lingers is now a heavy blanket over me. I have to look. I have to know for sure what’s inside.
No, I don't, I tell myself. Ignorance is bliss. Isn't that what people say? As much as I wish I could walk away, I won't be able to. Curiosity has gotten the best of me, and I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to be down here. It could be weeks, and I can’t wait that long.
What if there are women in there and it’s some kind of trafficking?
Okay, calm down, Jema. My sweet Salvador would never. Maybe it’s an exotic pet that has a special diet. I can see wealthy people feeding animals human food. Maybe it's a puppy that he’s saving for my birthday. That has to be it. Wait, when is my birthday?
Shaking off the distracting thoughts, I punch in the code. If it’s a puppy, I’ll give it a few ear scratches and leave. When the lock clicks over, I slowly pull the door open and see a dimly lit room.
Wine bottles fill the surrounding shelves, and I see that it’s nothing but a boring wine cellar.
The farther I walk in, the less sinister it seems, but the tray of food Edward was carrying is still bugging me.
As I go deeper into the vault, my eyes adjust, and that’s when I see what Edward was feeding.
"Jema." The man on the floor croaks out my name and blinks at me a few times. “Jema, thank fuck, you have to get me out of here."
He knows who I am? The young man tries to get up from the thin mattress shoved into the corner on the floor, but the chain hooked around his waist doesn't allow him to.
I see the untouched food sitting on the ground next to him, and then I notice on the other side a lone chair with a drain below it.
The scene is like something out of a horror movie, but my brain is still trying to make all these pieces fit together. Maybe the chair is for wine tasting? Wine spills and maybe they need drains for it. Right? I’m sure this is all fine.
My eyes flick up and down the man, and there’s no denying this is fucked up. I can tell he's been down here for more than a few days, and that’s when I see the bucket near the end of the mattress.
“Is that...” I start to say but can’t finish the sentence.
"He treats me like an animal," the man tells me. "Look what he did!" He holds up his hands, and there are two fingers missing. I stumble backward at the sight, and he jerks closer. "Jema, what the fuck?"
"I don't know who you are," I manage to get out. Why is this man down here?
"This is so not the time for one of your jokes, Jema.
" He yanks at the chain. "Find the keys and get me the fuck out of here.” He’s barking orders at me, and I slowly shake my head before I take another step back.
If he's down here, there has to be a reason.
"Are you serious right now? This is Salvador Roven's home. You know who that is, don’t you? Stop being stupid."
"Of course I know who he is." This guy doesn’t have to be an asshole to me. I’m not the one that locked him down here.
"Then help me get the fuck out of here." He glares at me with cold eyes that make my skin crawl. If he knows me, he sure doesn’t seem to like me.
"I think I should maybe talk to my husband." I take another step back, and the man's eyes widen with panic now.
There’s something about him that is familiar. It’s playing at the edge of my mind, but I can't place him.
"Your husband?"
"Sal."
"Sal? You're calling that sick motherfucker Sal? How fucking stupid are you?"
What’s with this jackoff? "Yeah, I'll go get him."
"No!” the man shouts. “Jema, please. What is wrong with you? He's a fucking mob boss."
"No, he deals with importing and exporting." I'm quick to correct him, but something about what he’s saying sounds right.
"Is that a ring on your finger?"
"Of course it is. I'm married." They must have knocked the sense out of this guy.
"Jema, you're not married! It’s me, Joey. We grew up together in foster care. You work at a diner, and everyone in this city knows not to fuck with Salvador Roven."
"I fuck with him," I say and laugh at my own joke. Although this guy doesn't think I'm funny.
He launches into a tirade that has him all over the place. One second he’s pissed, and another he's almost crying and pleading. He tells me about us and growing up together and then he tells me that my husband kidnapped him. He goes on and on, and I have to admit he does sound convincing.
Once he’s finished, I fill him in about hitting my head. It might not have been the best idea because he pounces all over it.
"Why should I trust you more than him?" I ask, not wanting to believe this guy.
"Why trust Salvador? Clearly you know him as well as you know me."
"I mean, I know what his dick looks like,” I deadpan, and the blood drains from his face. Oh god, did I used to know what Joey’s dick looked like too?!
"You're a virgin," he says, and I snort a laugh.
"I promise you I am not. My husband can't keep his hands off me.”
I would have known if I was a virgin. Doesn't it hurt when you lose that shit? I think back to our first time—well, the first one I can recall. There was a touch of pain, but he said it had been a while. I'm sure that’s why.
"You're really not fucking with me," Joey says with defeat before he drops down onto the mattress. His shoulders sag. "I'm going to die down here. Alone."
When he looks at me, I feel a rush of guilt. “Okay.”
"Okay, you'll help me?" He perks back up, ready to use me. That’s what it is, after all. There wasn’t a lot of softness when he talked about us growing up together. I mean, if anything, he sounded like a freaking jerk.
"I can talk Sal into most things—"
"No,” he barks, cutting me off. “You can't let him know you know I'm here."
"I can't lie to him." Any perkiness he had leaves him instantly. I don't know what to do, but I'm running out of time before my husband comes searching for me. Then he’ll know all of this.
"Test him," Joey suggests. "Now that I told you the truth, go watch him and see for yourself. The man barely knows you."
My husband loves me, and even though there’s a pit in my stomach right now, I know it’s all going to be okay.
"All right," I agree.
"Go before he catches you down here and we're both chained up."
I can't fathom Salvador chaining me up down here. He might tie me to the bed, but that would only be for a sexy punishment.
It can’t hurt to try to test him. It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose.
I suppose Joey’s fingers might disagree.