Page 76 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“Excuse me? You expect me to go down there alone? Number one, I don’t know what the fuck this place even is. Number two, with the unnecessarily complicated layout, I’ll probably get lost and die down there. Fuck, no.”

Brody sighs. “It’s not a big room, queer boy. Smaller than Barb’s office back home,” he says. He nervously clears his throat and looks away. “There are half-built robots down there, and they creep me the fuck out. Just walk down the fuckin’ stairs and take a look. It ain’t that fuckin’ hard, man.” He’s got his hands in his pockets, shoving them as far as they’ll reach. “Please, Tatum?”

My eyes widen, because never once have I heard that word leave Brody’s mouth. In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him look fearful either, but that’s exactly what I’m seeing now. I give him a nod, because the look on his face is unsettling, and I don’t want to look at it anymore.

“They’re not going to come alive and try to kill me, are they?”

He quickly shakes his head. “They’re harmless. I just don’t like the look of them. It’s fuckin’ creepy, man.”

“Okay,” I say, my breath shaking.

“Wait!” Scotty shouts, grabbing my hand. “Back at home, you never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“If you die, can I have all your clothes?”

I growl at my alleged biffle and jerk my wrist out of his hold. “One, two, fuck you,” I growl at him, turning around before making my way toward the dark stairwell.

“Three, four, love you, whore,” Scotty calls out from behind me.

I flick on the flashlight and angle it down. “Scotty,” I say, not looking back.

“Yeah, Tater Tot?”

“You can have everything but my Abi’s Boy crop top. If I somehow meet an untimely end down here, bury me in it.” And with that, I start my journey down the steps.

There aren’t that many stairs, but I still take them two at a time, wanting to get this over with and get back upstairs. Once I reach the bottom, I shine the light across the room. The place is a hellhole. There are random robotic body parts strewn across the floor. Eyeless heads on shelves like bowling balls.

I walk around the room, not expecting to find anything consequential. I can understand why Brody didn’t want to come down here; it’s got a super creepy vibe, and I just want to search it as quickly as I can and leave.

Once I’ve checked the pile of body parts to make sure he hasn’t been buried in plastic arms and metal legs, I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to leave. I make it one step forward before I’m flying face first into the concrete floor. There’s a wave of pain that spreads through my nose, and something wet touches my lip. Wiping it away, I lift my hand into the flashlight’s reach andgroan. Fabulous. I’m bleeding. My goddessdamned nose is probably broken. Just my fucking luck. It feels like someone’s smashed my face with a hammer, and I can barely see straight.

I rise to a kneeling position, turning the light around the room. I suck in a gasp when I spot the reason for my topple. Behind me, there’s a woman lying motionless on the floor. She’s wearing a white lab coat and a pair of white high heels. Her head is turned away from me, and there’s an empty syringe lodged in the side of her neck.

Ahead, there in the corner, I hear the soft sound of whimpers. “Merciful,” I think I hear a voice say, but it’s too far off for me to be sure. Standing, I aim the flashlight toward the corner, holding my breath. Hoping against hope. Pleading with Rinna.

He’s cowering in the corner, arms tucked around his shins. His lips are moving, but his eyes are closed, so I’m not sure who he’s talking to. As I approach, his voice becomes clearer.

“Merciful Tatum,” he’s saying. He’s holding a phone I’ve never seen before, and once the screen comes into focus, I’m surprised to see my smirking face staring back at me. My profile picture. Somewhere along the way, Abi’s stolen a phone, and he’s used his strength to conjure my familiar face. It’s a realization that leaves me floored. Bewildered. In absolute amazement of the weight of Abi Kincaid’s love.

His hands are shaking, and the sight of him like this is enough to make my breath hitch. His skin has lost every trace of color, he’s got sweat pouring down his face, and I think he may have popped a suture, because there’s a big red stain seeping through his hospital gown. I’ve never seen him this fragile, and it sends a protective surge through me. For six months, Abi has taken the dominant role in our relationship. He’s provided me with comfort and safety. Now, it’s my turn to return the favor. Kneeling in front of him, I cautiously touch his cheek, not wanting to frighten him.

“Abi,” I say softly. “Baby, it’s me.” His lips are still moving,but no words are coming out. I press my forehead against his, wanting him to come back to me. “It’s Tatum.”

He pauses, but only for a moment, then he launches back into his nearly wordless ramblings. I move to stand because Brody’s right upstairs, and I’m going to need his help lifting my gentle giant. I only make it an inch or two before his hand jolts forward. I squeak from surprise when he wraps a hand around my wrist, holding me in place.

“Merciful Tatum,” he says, and then, “hallowed be the little one's name.”

Is he praying to me?

“Yeah. It’s me, Daddy. I’m right here.”

“Glory be to the little one,” he says. “Amen.” When the words are out, I press a chaste kiss to his lips. His eyes are closed as he reaches for me, so I grab his hand and bring it to my face. He makes a strange expression before mumbling, “Is wet,” which means absolutely nothing to me. I have no idea what he’s talking about. He pulls his hand back, and something stands out when it travels past the flashlight.

Jesus and Joseph, his hand is covered in blood. My blood, probably. His body rocks forward and he catches me off guard, grabbing the back of my head and pulling me closer until our foreheads touch. His eyes still haven’t opened, so he hasn’t seen me yet, but that doesn’t stop him from whispering, “Tatum?”

“It’s me, baby. I’m right here.”

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