Page 64 of Bake the Town Red

The elevator would take too long. Waiting for them would waste precious seconds where I could be saving them.

“You think you’re so tough, little girl?” Al never bothered lowering his voice. It reverberated through the walls. “Here, Ian. Go ahead. Punish her. Mark her. Make her remember what happens to mouthy bitches.”

The words were muffled, but I figured out what was being said. From context. Al’s vicious demands hadn’t changed much from one beating to another.

Third floor.

My heart beat fast in my chest. Adrenaline was responsible for that. And how quickly I flew down the stairs.

Second floor.

I ripped the door of the staircase open. Hallway.

“It’s okay, Ian.” I heard Dahlia from behind the door, her voice soft. She sucked in a breath. Hissed. And Ian groaned. “It’s okay. Thank you for being the one to do this. It’s okay.”

“Let me in.” I slammed my fist on the door. Cursing myself for forgetting the keys Ian gave me at home. “Let me the fuck in, Al.”

I wished the cheap door would break. It never did. Dahlia and Ian couldn’t open it for me, either. They wouldn’t, unless the monster let them.

“The pedo’s back.” Al’s voice came off happy. Conceited. I heard his heavy footsteps, the chain on the lock. The door opened. “Come here to fuck my niece?”

Other than his filthy smile, he looked clean. His normally greasy blond hair was washed. His blue eyes weren’t glossy from drinking. He stood in the doorway in a crisp, white T-shirt and clean jeans.

He’d been expecting someone to call the police. He’d been there, torturing those miserable kids worse than usual.

Motherfucker.

“Ian.” I ignored Al, searching for Ian and Dahlia behind him.

They were sitting on the living room floor. I couldn’t see much more than that. Just the tops of their heads. Ian’s brown hair and Dahlia’s blonde, messy one. They sat close to each other. Neither of them lifted their heads to look at me.

That part scared me the most.

“Dahlia. Come here.” My demand was loud. Neither of the kids acknowledged me.

“They’re mine.” Al’s smile was sickening. “To do with as I wish. They’ll never leave.”

The urge to punch a hole through his chest and tear out his heart was debilitating. I pushed through.

“You’re a sick sadist.” My eyes wouldn’t budge from Ian and Dahlia. “They don’t belong to you.”

“They are. Court says so.” Al could’ve sold the kids’ parents’ shop. He could’ve taken the money and left. He hadn’t. It was a game to him.Theywere a game to him. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Another hiss from Dahlia had me shoving at his chest and forcing my way inside the apartment.

The scene that unfolded before my eyes was a kick to the chest. The gut. Everywhere.

Rage burst through me as if someone shoved a Molotov bomb down my throat.

Seeing that was when my sanity started tearing at the seams. That was how bad it’d been.

The siblings sat cross-legged on the floor. Ian in a T-shirt and jeans, tears leaking from his brown eyes and down his pale cheeks. Dahlia had nothing on but a black jersey dress. A single tear streaked down her cheek as she gazed into Ian’s eyes.

But their clothes and tears weren’t what fucked up my psyche.

It was the portable single stove at their side. The flames flickering in it. The knife in Ian’s hand.

The two large, blade-shaped burn marks and blisters on the side of Dahlia’s neck.

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