Page 95 of Slaughter

“Don’t!” I snap. He may have a gun in there.

He sucks in a breath. “The key. You’re gonna need a key to get into it.”

“Kayn,” I say, and he opens the drawer and hands it to me.

“Last door on the left,” Lance rushes out.

“Who else is here?” I demand.

“No one. Just me.” He shakes his head frantically.

“Put him in a car,” I tell Kayn. I need answers, but I need Bunny more right now. I can torture him later.

I make my way to the last door on the left and see my brother when I descend the five stairs. “It’s locked,” he says, trying to jiggle the handle. “Stand back,” he orders, pointing his gun down at it.

“Stop. I have a key.”

I put it in, and the lock clicks. Pushing the door open, I lift my gun once again, not sure what I will find. At first, I see nothing. It’s too dark. Pitch black. “Bunny?” I call out.

No response.

I blink rapidly to adjust my eyes when I hear my brother enter and come to a stop beside me. That allows a little light to filter in behind us.

The room is cold with concrete walls and floor. Smells just like my cellar—death. “I can’t see anything …” My words trail off when something comes into view, a small frame huddled up in a corner.

I lower my gun and run over to it. The more I’m in the room, the more I smell the blood. My jaw tightens at the thought of my brother making her bleed.

Dropping to my knees, I place my hands on her bare legs. Her skin feels ice cold to the touch just like when I found her in the bathtub.

“Bunny?” I ask softly.

Her knees are pulled to her chest, and her forehead rests on them. Her dark hair is matted and falls over her body. It’s hard to see her because it’s so dark in here. “Is there a light?” I ask Tristan.

“I’m looking …” Seconds later, the room is lit with a single bulb dangling from the middle of the ceiling.

“Bunny?” I ask again, placing my hands on either side of her head and lifting it up. It falls back against the wall, and I shove the hair away from her face. I see her eyes shut. There’s a cut on both her upper and lower lip along with one across her nose. A stream of dark red blood runs down her parted lips to her bare chest.

“Presleigh?” I ask, watching for any kind of response. I get nothing. There’s a big knot on the right side of her head. I pry open her eyelids and find her pupils dilated. “She’s drugged,” I say through clenched teeth.

They kept her sedated.

Fucking bastards.

They’re no different than you!

A part of me hopes she’s been this way the entire time. I don’t want her to remember what happened to her while she was here.

“Goddammit,” my brother hisses.

“What?”

“Her neck.”

“What the …?” I ask, placing my hand on the two-inch-thick steel shackle around her delicate skin.

“She’s tried to get it off,” he observes, seeing the scratch marks that run up and down her neck. The skin is bruised blue and purple. Dried blood covers her bare neck and chest. She has stitches where her tracker was.

“Hang on, Bunny,” I say, panic rising. I remember what she did to herself in the bathtub with that tracker. I can imagine her sitting in here, chained to the wall and screaming while she tries to free herself. Her mind set on it no matter what it cost her. Even if it’s her life.

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