Page 98 of Tempest

“Clo, I swear to God.”

“There are no gods here. Just me, you, and the spirit of Sarah Anderton that you scared away.”

I sag against the wall in relief. She’s not telling him I’m here.

“Jesus Christ, is that your blood on my table?”

The siblings erupt into a passionate argument, fading as Tempest moves from the hidden door and presumably toward his sister to push her out of the house. It dawns on me I’ll have to wait for an opportune time to escape unnoticed, and so far, the only other option is … down.

A small bulb on a chain illuminates the descending staircase, still swinging with the force of Tempest’s slam.

I take the steps on the tips of my toes, somehow confident that any noise I make will reach Tempest’s ears. He’ll be back any minute, too. I can’t very well stand here and wave when he opens his secret door and sees me on the other side.

If I thought he’d be mad for exploring his bedroom…

Gulping, I take the next few steps. So far, so good. The walls on either side end at the bottom of the stairs, opening up to what I assume is a basement. It occurs to me this could be the same room Tempest trapped me in last week. I didn’t get much of a glimpse when I was here last, what with Tempest’s naked body encompassing my entire world once he removed my blindfold.

Interest piqued, I take the rest of the stairs with faster steps.

“Do you think he’s done?” a baritone voice asks.

I freeze.

“Whatever. It’s his fucking problem for giving his sister so much leeway in the first place. Storm Cloud acts like such a badass when in reality he’s a pussy for pussy. Even ones he’s related to.”

The second voice is instantly recognizable: Professor Morgan. What makes my brows lower is the way he’s referring to Tempest, so casually and with such heated dismissal.

“Thanks for making the decision for me, then, Hunter because I’m not going to listen to you bash the man who could kill you while you busy yourself with … whatever this is.”

That voice is also familiar but recognizable from the past. It brings back memories of sneaking under the dinner table with Clover as we tried to eavesdrop on what Tempest and his insanely hot friends were talking about when they took brief trips home for the summer. It’s not Chase, the godly blonde, or James, the curly-haired asshole.

It comes to me. Riordan Hughes. Rio.

A sound from above snaps my chin up. Tempest coming down.

Shit!

I scuttle to the bottom and do a sharp U-turn in hopes I’m not exposed to the two men hanging out in the basement. I duck into the crawlspace under the stairs without issue, rounding my lips and blowing out a relieved, silent exhale as I crouch in the darkness.

Tempest’s steps thud above me.

“Good,” Rio says. “Remove the tape.”

A rip sounds. I peer through the sliver of light I’m granted in my hiding space.

I swear I hear the same despondent wail that echoed through the woods in our trek over here. It cuts off, and a gurgling, choking sound follows.

My hand goes to my mouth, but I can’t unsee.

Rio and Professor Morgan circle a wooden chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by items I recognize from last time.

The same chair Tempest used to tie me up and have sex with me.

And in that chair is … another woman.

---