Chapter 15
Sera
The doorbell rings again.
The sound is so ordinary, so domestic. It cuts through the basement’s thick silence, through the haze of cigar smoke and anticipation, and lands right between my eyes.
For one second, we all freeze.
Vincent’s swollen eyes dart toward the ceiling. James’s head snaps up, his smile vanishing. Eddie goes still, the cigar still curling smoke between his fingers. Even the shadows in Daddy’s corner seem to stop breathing.
Then the world snaps back into motion, too fast, all wrong.
The doorbell rings again, followed by an insistent knock, followed by a loud voice. “Police! Open up!”
“Fuck,” I whisper.
My hands are on the harness before my brain fully catches up. The buckles are cold under my fingers as I fumble with frantic, clumsy urgency. The black dildo sways heavily as I struggle.
“Get it off,” I hiss, more to myself than anyone.
Eddie is beside me in two strides. He doesn’t speak. His fingers find the buckles, working them with a calm, efficient speed. The harness loosens and falls away. The weight is gone, and I feel suddenly light, unmoored, like my panic will sweep me up and away at any second.
“Plan,” I say, my voice low and tight. “Now.”
James is already at the bottom of the stairs, listening. “Two of them.”
“Daddy,” I say, turning to the shadows. “Keep him quiet. Not a sound.”
The darkness in the corner shifts. A low, resonant hum fills the air, and his power coils around Vincent like a serpent. Vincent’s mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes rolling back, and Daddy’s shadows lunge down his throat.
“James, kitchen,” I order. “If I need you…”
He grins, a flash of white in the dim light. “I’ll hear the call, my queen.”
“Eddie.”
He’s already moving upstairs and heading toward the back door, the one that leads to the overgrown backyard. “I’ll come up the street, ‘just in the neighborhood.’ Give me a minute.”
Then he’s gone, the back door clicking shut behind him.
The doorbell rings yet again.
I force a breath in, hold it, and let it out slowly. I run my hands through my hair, trying to look casually disheveled, not like I was just about to commit the same crime committed against me.
I take the stairs two at a time, my bare feet silent on the wood. Crossing toward the front door, I smooth my hands over my leggings, wipe the sweat from my upper lip, and paste on the expression I’ve perfected for moments like this. Confused, a little annoyed, and mostly innocent.
I turn the lock and open the door.
Two uniformed officers stand on my porch with a gray evening sky as a backdrop, one young, one old. The younger one looks uncomfortable, his hand resting near his belt.
“Sera Vale?” the older one asks, his voice polite but firm.
“Yes?” I make it a question as I widen my eyes just a fraction. “Is everything okay?”
“We’re looking for Vincent Harrow. Have you seen him lately?”
The lie comes smooth and easy. “Vincent? No. I haven’t seen him…” I let my voice trail off and inject a hint of wary discomfort. “Why? Is he missing?”
The older cop scans my face, my posture, the space behind me. “He was supposed to check in with us. He didn’t. He’s staying at Our Lady of Sorrows, but Father Nolan hasn’t seen him.” He narrows his eyes. “He said if anything happened to him, it was likely you that caused it.”
“Me?” I cross my arms over my chest, a defensive, vulnerable gesture. “But I’ve been here all day. It’s my day off. I don’t know anything about Vincent.”
Miller’s gaze flicks past me into the dim hallway. “Mind if we come in, ma’am? Just to be sure?”
My blood runs cold. “That’s not necessary. It’s late, and I’m not comfortable—”
“It would just take a minute.”
A faint footstep sounds behind me—James in the kitchen. The air cinches tight with both his irritation and mine.
“Look, Officers, I don’t know where Vincent is,” I say smoothly.
“If you don’t believe me, I have a camera right there in that tree pointing at my car in the driveway”—I point at said tree, the camera very clear from this angle—“which will prove I haven’t left here all day and that I arrived home from work late last night.
The cameras at Gas N’ Go will prove I was there for most of my shift yesterday.
I’ll be happy to pull those recordings for you. ”
Thank goodness both James and Eddie had the sense to park their cars elsewhere. Otherwise, their vehicles would only invite more questions.
“Is there a problem here?”
Eddie’s voice, calm and authoritative, comes from the sidewalk. His hands are in the pockets of his leather jacket, looking for all the world like a man out for an evening stroll who stumbled upon a scene.
The older officer turns, eyebrows lifted. “Detective Crowe.”
“Deputy Miller.” Eddie nods, coming to stand on my front porch, a subtle, protective shift that puts his body slightly between me and the officers. “What’s going on?”
“Welfare check on Vincent Harrow. Vincent mentioned Ms. Vale by name if he goes missing. Ms. Vale says she hasn’t seen him.”
“Which means she hasn’t,” Eddie says, his tone mild but leaving no room for argument.
“With all due respect, Detective, we’d like to verify that for ourselves.”
Eddie’s expression hardens with a shift from colleague to superior. “Do you have a warrant, Deputy?”
“No, sir. This is just a check—”
“Then you have no right to be here,” Eddie says, his voice dropping into that quiet, dangerous register I’ve only heard a few times before. “Ms. Vale has answered your questions. Harrow isn’t here. If you have credible information that he is, get a warrant. Until then, leave her alone.”
The younger officer looks at his feet.
Finally, Miller gives a short, tight nod. “Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Vale.”
His eyes meet mine one last time, and I see it there. The doubt, the unresolved suspicion. He’s not going to let this go.
“Thank you, Officers,” I say, my voice a soft, relieved murmur.
They turn and walk back to their cruiser. Eddie gives me a polite wave and starts walking away while I stand on the porch, watching.
The cruiser’s taillights flare, and they pull away, disappearing into the dark.
I don’t move until the sound of the engine is completely gone.
When Eddie creeps back out of the shadows, I say, “They’ll be back. Or they’ll put a watch on the house. They’re not convinced.”
The fragile sense of control I built in the basement is shattered. The outside world has a finger on the windowsill, prying it open.
I turn and walk back inside, down the hall, toward the basement door. Eddie follows and shuts and locks the door behind him.
The ritual is broken. The mood is gone, replaced by a sharp, metallic fear.
But Vincent is still downstairs.
And my rage is still there, hotter for having been interrupted.
I pause at the top of the basement stairs and look back at Eddie. “How long do you think we have?”
He meets my gaze, his face grim. “It depends on what exactly Vincent told them. They might have enough to go get a warrant.”
I nod, then I start back down the stairs.
The game has changed. Now we’re not just torturing a man.
We’re racing against a clock.