Page 110 of Cruel Riches

I moved closer and pressed my ear right up to the brown bricks at the back of the storage cupboard. Then a grin broke out on my face. I recognized the song. It was ‘Beyond the Sea’. The cup-muted trumpet riff was unmistakable.

I lay down on the floor with my head in the cupboard and closed my eyes, letting the faint melody wash over me. I knew I was probably losing my mind and imagining the whole thing, but I didn’t care. It just felt so good to hear music again.

It suddenly occurred to my tired mind that if the music wasn’t a result of my imagination, then it had to be coming from somewhere. I sprang up and tapped on the bricks at the back of the storage cupboard. “Hello?” I called out. “Is someone there?”

Perhaps there was another shelter on a nearby property, and whoever lived there enjoyed hanging out inside it while blasting old-time music. I couldn’t imagine why, but if I’d learned one thing during my short time on this planet, it was that people were fucking weird.

“Hello?” I repeated, knocking on the bricks.

There was no response. The music was fading now.

“Can you hear me?” I shouted.

Nothing.

A few seconds later, the music was gone. I slumped back down to the floor, figuring I’d imagined the whole thing. That was my initial suspicion, after all, and it made sense. Most people would lose their shit and start seeing and hearing things that weren’t there in a situation like this one.

I let out a sigh and shut my eyes as exhaustion crept back in.

When I finally woke again, there was a scraping sound coming from somewhere down the passage, followed by heavy footsteps. I sat bolt upright, pulse racing.

Nate was back.

I expected to see his torture kit on him, or something similar, but all he held was a thick black woolen scarf and beanie.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“I thought I heard music coming from there,” I replied, pointing to the storage cupboard where the sounds had come from earlier.

“Music?” He gave me an incredulous look. “Why the fuck would there be music down here?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure this is the only bomb shelter around here?”

His upper lip curled disdainfully. “Yes. I already told you that.”

“Well, maybe there was someone walking around up there with music playing, and it somehow filtered underground,” I said, pointing above my head.

“That’s not possible.”

“I’m sure I heard something,” I insisted.

“It was probably just the voices in your head again. Now shut up and put these on,” he commanded, tossing the scarf and beanie toward my bunk.

I stood up. “Why? Are you moving me again?”

“No, but I need you to come up to the house for a while.”

“Why?” I asked, raising a brow.

His upper lip curled with disdain. “One of your little friends wasn’t convinced by our act this morning. The police just showed up here asking to do a welfare check on you,” he said. “I assume it was Laurel who called them.”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, and I forced it back down, not wanting to risk Nate’s wrath.

Oh, Laurel.Smart, cynical, wonderful Laurel. She wasn’t the sort of girl who fell for slimy pricks like Nate, no matter how thick they laid on the charm. Because of that, she could be my ticket out of here.

“Why do I need to wear a beanie?” I asked.

I understood why he wanted me to wear a scarf—he didn’t want the police to stare at me and notice even the faintest of bruises or scratches on my throat—but there was no reason to cover my hair. Now that I’d washed it, it was much silkier and easier to manage, and it didn’t look like the hair of a girl who’d been held captive in a dungeon for nearly two weeks.

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