Page 22 of Red

Erik put her on her feet but held onto her upper arm. Most of her hair had tumbled out of the elastic band and rained down around her shoulders. Her face was red from dangling upside down, but her eyes held his interest. Wide and curious.

She had no idea what a real monster was. But he’d show her.

He pulled her forward, past the leather couch to the wall beside the television. Pressing against the paneling, he popped open the secret door. To the casual observer it would be missed. The crease of the edge fit nicely into the pattern of the panels.

“What— Erik, wait—” She dug her heels in, her voice remorseful and soft.

“Too late.” He yanked her forward and pulled the door shut. She wouldn’t get out now. She didn’t know where the lock was or how to disarm it.

Melinda turned away from him, shoulders moving up and down in a drunk cadence as she tried to find her breath. The room took up the rest of the square footage of the basement. Four times the size of the little man cave they’d walked through.

“What is this?” she asked, curling her arms around her stomach. If she was trying to ward off the chill, it wouldn’t work. The temperature here never climbed over fifty-five degrees, and the cement flooring and walls didn’t do much to keep the space heated.

He watched her take in the cages, the whipping post, the numerous implements hanging from the walls. Memories of the screams of the women his uncle had kept here still haunted him. Uncle Kristoff often brought the boys down to watch a movie in the man cave while he went into his twisted playroom. Erik had only once tried to intervene, tried to get in to save the girls. A hard backhand across his face for his effort and the threat of more to come to him and his brothers if he ever set foot in Uncle Kristoff’s playroom kept him compliant.

He hadn’t been big enough or old enough to do something about the horrors then, but he wasn’t a little boy anymore. Erik released Melinda’s arm and set his jaw. He was not his fucking uncle.

“Erik.” Her soft voice, full of fear, of uncertainty, blanketed him. He lifted his gaze and caught sight of her apprehension.

“This is where my uncle kept his girls.” He walked past her to one of the three cages. “Not all of them; he couldn’t house them all here. Most were kept in worse places. This is where he kept his favorites. The ones he wanted to play with before he sold them.” He wrapped his hand around the thick, black bars. The cage was not big enough for a person to lie down in, barely wide enough for someone to sit cross-legged.

“He played with them until they were broken. Then he sold them to anyone who would have them. Made a lot of money on the broken ones from what I remember.” He walked over to the whipping post and ran his fingertips along the wooden beam.

“The men who bought them liked them broken. They didn’t have to fight to get the girls to do what they wanted. They could fuck them in the ass, the mouth, the pussy, anywhere, and the girl would obey, mindlessly, because not to do so…” Erik walked over to the wall and picked up a studded flogger, running his fingers over the metal rivets.

“Erik.” She withdrew from him, backpedaling until she hit the door. Flipping herself around, she fumbled her hands along the wall, searching for the lock, for an escape.

“Come here, Melinda,” he commanded in an even tone. She wasn’t getting out, and she wouldn’t get away. She hadn’t learned yet.

“No!” she yelled.

“You haven’t learned what a monster truly is yet,” he said and hung the flogger on its hook.

“I know. I know.” Her fingers flittered along the door’s edge, but she wouldn’t find the mechanism. Even if she did, it was far beyond her reach.

“No, you don’t see.” He unlatched one of the cages and opened the door, the creak of the metal echoing. “Sometimes, he had six to seven women down here.”

Melinda stared over her shoulder, at the cages. Understanding bloomed across her face. Three cages, six women, sometimes seven? Her eyes widened.

“He didn’t really care if they were comfortable or not,” he explained and slammed the door. “He fed them dog food. Made them use the drain over there for their toilet. And if one of them had an accident. Couldn’t hold it until someone came down to let them out of the cage to go—they were forced to lick it up.” His cousin Marcus had enjoyed sharing stories of the horrors his father had trained him to inflict. Eric’s mother had been able to protect her three sons from having to see it, but she couldn’t stop them from learning about it.

The color ran from Melinda’s face as he went on.

“None ofthemslept in a warm bed. Not one of them was given ice cream for dinner. They were kept nude and cold—no brand-new clothes for them.” He took soft steps in her direction, holding her captive with his words.

Her lips trembled.

“They cried, begged, screamed for mercy, but none ever came.” He grabbed the neckline of her blouse and ripped it clean down the center. “It’s time you answer some questions.”

She screamed, but he wrapped his hand around her throat, choking off the sound. He turned them and pushed her backward until she hit the whipping post.

“Put your arms over your head,” he ordered, his stare fixed on her eyes. Everything he needed to know was displayed there. Every emotion played out like a personal note to him in the depths of her emerald orbs.

Her shaking hands joined together over her head. He kept her pinned to the post with his hand firmly around her throat, giving her enough air but no wiggle room. The cuffs were easy to maneuver one handed to get her locked up, something his uncle would have requested.

Erik shook off the demons of the past. The haunting atrocities would never take place again.

Once she was secured, he stepped away from her, inspecting her beauty and admiring her curves. Even with, or maybe because of, the fear dancing in her eyes, making her body tremble as she stood before him, he found her more exquisite than any other woman he’d touched. Even with the uncertainty that must have been plaguing her every thought, she maintained her strength. Scared as she was, she would not crumple before him—and it was beautiful.

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