Chapter 52
The downpour drowns my screams, cutting me off from the world outside. But I can’t quit. Can’t give up. I press my face to the window and try again.
Nothing but the constant drone of water. Even if my voice carried to the park, no one is out there, not in this weather.
I glance around the space. Small. Cramped. Dark. Several feet between the metal door and the stairway leading down. Down to the catacombs. And straight to Lyam.
With my eyes shut, I press my back to the door. The ground shifts beneath my feet—a sudden shudder and tilt. Only it’s me who’s quaking.
Because there’s nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
I’m all by myself. Alone with a killer.
My jaw chatters from cold and fear. Drenched clothes. The verge of hypothermia. Bare feet and empty hands. But wait . . . the knife.
I slap my hand on my back pocket, feeling for the blade I’d hidden there. But of course, it’s gone. Taken when I was unconscious. Or lost. When I fled through the tunnels or fell in the water.
Sound rises from the stairwell, and my heart shreds itself.
Slow, steady footsteps. Coming closer.
Lyam is here.
Turning in a circle, I scour the ground, the walls, searching for anything I can use to defend myself. Maybe a rock, or piece of stone if I can free it from the mortar.
Wait. On the stairs. The broken step.
I drop to my knees at the top of the stairs, dragging my hand along the edge of each step. I lost my footing when something shifted beneath my foot. If it’s cracked, maybe, just maybe—
A sharp point gouges my palm.
My hand jerks in reflex, but then I grab onto the piece that jabbed me. Part of the step slants down, probably cracked long ago, damaged further when I stepped on it.
Gripping the broken section, I pull up and then push down, lending the weight of my body to the effort.
“I don’t usually have to work this hard.” Lyam’s voice. He stands below me on the steps, a lazy grin on his face.
My throat tightens and my skin chills. My nervous system is at full tilt, yet he stands there, smiling.
How is he so calm? Why isn’t he angry?
Because he’s done this before. Hunted women like prey, mice in a maze scurrying for escape.
This is the part he enjoys the most.
“Come here,” he says, his tone confident. Commanding. As if after all this, I’ll simply obey.
I keep my eyes on his but slide my legs down. Sitting, I angle to block my hand from his view and continue to work the broken stone.
He climbs a step. Then another. He scrapes something along the wall. A long, metal tool. With a hook.
I remember the table in the bleeding room. Covered in torture devices.
“Get up.” He snaps at me, testy and impatient, used to people following his orders.
“Or what?” I ask, trying to keep him talking as I continue to move the fragment back and forth. “You’ll strap me back on that table like you did Alice? And Rose? And how many others before?”
The chunk shifts beneath my hands with a sandpaper scrape.
Lyam takes the final step, looming above me in the tight stairwell.
Only the space of a breath separates us now.
“All of you thought you were so special. Beautiful, or accomplished, or famous.” He drags his eyes up and down my body and licks his lips. “Exactly the kind of girls I like to bring down a peg or two.”
He leans over and strokes my neck. “But you were the most fun, Brooke. I loved watching you rehearse your lines. So serious. So dedicated. There’s more to you than just sparkle. I wanted to let you live. I really did.” He tilts his head. “So I could keep watching.”
Arm stretched behind me, I push and pull on the hunk of stone. The ragged edge slices my palm. But I ignore the pain, squeezing tight as I try to keep Lyam from noticing.
“You’re a monster,” I say, filling my voice with contempt. I want him to hear how disgusted I am. I want to keep his focus on my words.
And not what I’m doing behind my back.
“Killing them was never about power in the blood. Not for you.” I curl my lip in revulsion.
Even now, as he stands over me. Bigger, stronger, and experienced in the ways of murder.
“You’re nothing special. Just an everyday psycho, a common pervert who was born into privilege and had the luxury of living out his sick fantasies. ”
Lyam’s face twists, anger narrowing his empty eyes. “There’s nothing common about me.” The slap comes out of nowhere. An explosion in my cheek before I slump against the wall.
Lyam drops down, straddling my body. He wraps one hand around my throat. And with the other, he lifts the hook.
He presses the sharp point to my breast. Then gives one, quick pull.
I scream when the metal cuts my flesh.
Lyam tightens his grip on my throat, squeezing until I start to wheeze.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be back,” he says. “I’ll watch your sparkle fade many times before I’m through.”
As he chokes me, my free hand shoots out, pressing against his chest. But his arms are longer, and my attempts to block him are like a child’s—weak and ineffective.
My lungs seize up. My head feels swollen. And beneath the pain, the horrible knowledge of what comes next.
Because Lyam told me.
He’ll choke me until I black out, then revive me again. He’ll bring me back just to kill me. Over and over and over, watching me die until he gets bored. Until the last time.
The last time for me.
But there will always be another girl.
The thought sparks a fury in my belly. And fury becomes a fire, a blaze of energy burning from my center. I lift my arms up through his, then drive my elbows back down.
His arms buckle, breaking his grip, and he slides to one side.
Air flows down my throat like cool water, giving me a small boost, just enough to kick out. My foot hits Lyam on his hip, and he loses his balance. Gaining his feet, he leans against the wall to steady himself. Which buys me a few crucial seconds.
I roll over and smash my hand on the broken chunk. A loud crack! fills the stairwell as the piece breaks free. I grab it and stand up, facing the monster.
It’s not a brick. And Lyam’s not a vampire.
But close enough.
Lyam lunges for me, and I slice out, leaving a gash in his forearm.
“Fucking bitch!” He curses me, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared.
I scramble to my feet and into the chamber, backing up to the metal door.
Lyam rushes after me, too angry to care about the weapon in my hand.
With a roar, I smash the rock into his jaw.
He grunts and lists to one side, eyes widening as blood trickles from his mouth.
Taking advantage, I hit him again. Hard. Something small and sharp pings off of my cheek.
A shard of tooth.
Groaning, Lyam clasps both hands to his face. He sways on his feet. Seconds pass as he stands in shock, cradling his jaw. Then his expression hardens, and the anger is back.
He steps toward me.
I raise the bloody chunk of rock.
Lyam tries to speak, but the sound is a gurgling mumble. After one last glare, he retreats, backing away with unsteady steps.
He backs toward the stairwell, teeters on the top step.
Gravity overtakes him, his upper body bending back until one leg flails in the air. Then he’s gone.
Thuds and grunts echo as he tumbles, but at last, he’s silent.
I wrap my arms around myself and lean against the door. Emotion builds in my gut before climbing out in tearless sobs. Every breath hurts, whistling through my swollen throat.
Still desperate to be outside and away from this place, I grasp for the rim of the window.
A hand wraps around mine, and I scream.
“Brooke. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Wet fingers squeeze mine. André. “Help is coming.” He reaches through and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“How did you know?” I ask, my voice scraping through bruised tissue.
“Luci called me. She called everybody.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m here now, and I won’t leave you. Just hold on.”
His assuring gaze fixes on me, and I sink with relief. With it come the tears. Tears of pain and fear, anger and loss. A flood of emotion that chokes my words. With my head resting on the door and my hand in André’s, all I can do is nod.
And hold on.