Page 16 of Savage

My chest tightens when I consider what I’m about to walk into. I don’t know why my father has summoned me down here, but I know I have to protect Drake and River from any more of his malicious punishments. Even though I’ve tried to keep my brother and his best friend away from the darkness, it seeps through all our veins.

There will never be any escape for us.

Not until Malcolm Savage is dead.

With each step that takes me down to the basement, my stomach twists. I have no idea what I’ve done wrong, but nothing that happens down here is good, and this time it appears to be my fault. He must have found or heard I did something while he was away.

Pushing open the door to the chamber of horrors, I step inside to find my father standing at the large table where he conducts what he calls his experiments. Everything I’ve witnessed within the confines of this basement has tortured me emotionally.

“Dante,” my father says as he looks up from whatever he’s doing.

His eyes bore into me, trying to uncover all my secrets. My father is observant, and it doesn’t matter what I do, there’s no way I can hide my thoughts from him.

He’s taught me to be as vigilant as he is, but I never use what I observe to hurt others. I’ve vowed I won’t become the man who’s standing in front of me now.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask, keeping my voice calm, but my chest is tight with anxiety.

When I first had a panic attack, at the age of ten, my father slapped me so hard I blacked out. By the time I woke up, my panic had gone, but the fear has never really left me.

“Yes,” he says as he comes around the table and straightens his jacket. His suit is impeccable, not one crease or mark, even though I’m pretty sure he was elbow deep in blood not so long ago. “Sit,” Malcolm orders, his voice calm, but there’s a threat underlying the word.

My father likes to get his own way, and if you don’t obey, you pay the price.

As much as I want to ask him what’s going on and get this over with, I know it won’t help if I do. I settle into the chair, positioned to face him, and wait. The thud of my heart against my ribs makes it difficult to swallow.

“There have been whispers among the men,” he says as he narrows his gaze on me. “They’ve mentioned you’ve been asking too many questions.”

As he speaks, he clasps his hands together and threads his fingers through each other. His cold, blue stare stabs me in the chest where my rapidly beating heart is trying to escape its cage.

“Aren’t I meant to be interested in your work?”

I didn’t expect this to be the topic of our meeting. Granted, most of the men who work for my father fear him, so if he’s asked them about me, I know they’ll have been more than willing to tell him to avoid his usual torture methods.

“Oh,” —a dark, dangerous grin curls my father’s lips— “you can be interested, but it seems you’re more than happy to delve into the nuances of what I do, but you aren’t willing to act on my instructions.”

“If I’m going to be taking over from you, I need to be able to talk to the team, surely. They’re your men and can offer a different perspective.” I know my father is too perceptive not to see right through my bullshit.

“If you’re so intrigued by what I do, Dante, then maybe it’s time you helped me with my next job.” He offers me a smile, but it’s not filled with parental pride, it’s one of amusement because he knows I’m not strong enough to disagree with him.

The idea of doing anything with him, or for him, makes the bile churn in my gut, and I can taste the acidity burning its way up into my throat. The last time he brought me down here to show me what he’d been doing, I was sick. That was a grave mistake.

“Bring her out,” Malcolm orders one of the guards who’s standing at the entrance to the long, dark, damp hallway where the cells are.

My father has built a large underground network of tunnels with small, concrete rooms where he keeps the young girls and boys he traffics.

It’s a prison. But not only for those who are locked up, it’s a prison for me and Drake as well. When I see the girl brought into the room, I know what he’s going to ask me to do. There will be bloodshed—mine, hers, or maybe both.

At sixteen, I’m accustomed to my father’s mindset. I know what, and how, he thinks. What I don’t know is why. The reason my father is broken beyond repair is a mystery to me.

“Dante, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” My father looks at me as he speaks. “This is Josie,” he informs me as if he’s expecting me to shake her hand and welcome her to our home.

She’s scared and shaking like a leaf.

“What is this?” I say as I examine the girl who looks a bit younger than me.

She pins me with a pleading look, and the thought of what I’m going to have to do makes my stomach twist in knots. Big, brown eyes are filled with shimmering tears, and I want nothing more than to rip into my father. I want him to bleed. The idea of hurting him makes me want to smile, but I fight it back.

Violence dances in my veins, celebrating my need for savagery. The only person in this room I want to see die is the man I call Father. I used to hide the darkness I found lurking inside me, but I don’t anymore. Instead, I embrace it.

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