Page 40 of Obsession

I knew the notion of security was a cruel joke here, in the belly of the beast. But it was a joke I had to play along with, for the sake of the life growing inside me -- a life that deserved more than the shadows and screams that filled our twisted world. Their daddy might be a monster, a cold hard killer, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t be raised with love.

“Then it’s settled. We fortify a room… for the brat.” He shifted and folded his arms again, but I saw the vulnerability on his face. He’d felt something, and he didn’t like it. Or maybe he just didn’t understand it. Either way, it was a step in the right direction.

“Thank you.” I watched him, this man, this monster, who could tear lives apart with his bare hands. And yet, in this single, rare moment, he had chosen to build rather than destroy.

“Save it. Just remember, no matter where you hide, I am always here. Even if you run into that room with our kid, you’ll still have to come back out.”

I nodded, silent, my mind racing with the logistics of our morbid nursery. The safe room was a concession, a small piece of ground gained in a war I was destined to lose. Yet, it was a victory nonetheless -- one I clung to amid the chaos.

“Get some rest,” he ordered, without looking back. “You’ll need it.”

As his footsteps receded, the dread and hope within me waged their silent war. The safe room would be a haven, a sliver of light in the endless darkness that was life with Riot Tredway. It was a bitter pill, sweetened by the faintest hope that maybe, just maybe, survival was possible in this house of horrors.

* * *

Riot’s hand clasped around mine, callused and commanding, as he tugged me from the bed several hours later. The softness had vanished, replaced by the iron grip of The Butcher, his name a whispered death sentence in Raven’s Vale. We moved through the mansion, his steps thunderous, mine a hesitant scuttle beside him.

“Where?” His voice sounded more like the growl of a beast.

“Basement,” I muttered. “Reinforced. Hidden.”

Of course, there was the risk I wouldn’t be able to get there in time. Something closer would have been better, but I wasn’t sure it would be as safe.

He grunted, a nonverbal acknowledgment, as we descended the staircase. Each step felt like a descent into purgatory -- a place between salvation and damnation, where our baby could be spared or swallowed whole by Riot’s darkness.

“Soundproof,” I added. It would be necessary. A crying baby would possibly fuel their anger, and I might not be able to quiet the child.

“Smart.” He snorted, almost amused, and I caught the briefest flicker of approval in his cold gaze. It was fleeting, but it was there.

“Cameras,” I continued. “So you can see, make sure we’re safe.”

Once he’d calmed down, I knew he’d wonder about us locked away in that room. And this would give him a way of checking on us.

“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone.

As we reached the bowels of the house, the air grew mustier, the shadows thicker. This would be the sanctuary for my unborn child, a macabre womb crafted by their father’s twisted hands.

“Enough to keep the child out of harm’s way?” I asked, my eyes scanning the dark corners, envisioning a crib amidst the gloom. Something would have to be done to brighten the place. And it certainly needed a good scrubbing.

“Out of theirs too.” He glanced at my still flat belly. “Ours. I can’t promise what will happen if I’m enraged enough. This was a good call, Hollis.”

“Can’t protect them from everything,” I mused aloud, my mind a whirlwind of doubts. Would this small act of compromise be enough to shield our child from the depravity that lurked beyond these walls, within their own father?

“We can try,” Riot replied, the closest thing to tenderness I’d ever heard from him. It was rough, frayed at the edges, but it bore the weight of a promise.

“Yes, we can try.” In Riot’s world, he’d never experienced a soft touch or known kindness. He had no idea how to love anyone. But this time, maybe -- just maybe -- he would be capable of building something instead of tearing it apart.

“Tomorrow. I’ll have some materials delivered in the morning. We can start working on it then.”

* * *

The chill of the unlit corridor seeped into my bones as Riot and I stood there, side by side. I felt his heat, a stark contrast to the cold that pressed in around us, and it was a twisted comfort. The very man who could end lives with his bare hands was now the shield between our child and a world hungry for blood.

“Ready for this?” he asked. “It won’t be easy, and if I ask Crash and Kane for help, I can’t promise they won’t build in a way to access the room.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered back, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. I glanced up at him, catching the steely resolve in his gaze.

“Let’s get to work, then,” he said.

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