Page 165 of Happily Never After

Heavy footsteps stomped across the tile. A zipper unzipped. Liquid splashed. Claire’s heart was pounding straight out of her chest. Could he hear it? She gripped the wooden shelf behind her like a lifeline. If he opened the door, she would be dead in seconds. Jack’s helpful probing had revealed over a hundred firearms registered in Big Z’s name, which was legally Zedediah Nipple.

“Z?” someone called from the hallway. “We need another extinguisher.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” The zipper re-zipped. The faucet didn’t turn on, but the rumble of his footsteps shook the shampoo bottles behind her. Of course he didn’t wash his hands. Nasty.

A door slammed a moment later. She took a hesitant step out into the bathroom. Where would she go now? Charlie had mentioned rumors of a secret room in the basement, but she didn’t even know where the basement door was. How did Big Z have a basement, anyway? Luke said they were uncommon in LA.

“Claire?” Charlie’s voice called in a whisper. It seemed to be coming from the hallway.

Claire wrenched the door open.

“Door’s over there. Hurry.” Charlie pointed at a set of double doors across the kitchen. “This could just be a rumor, but someone at the party said there’s two secret rooms. One’s a freaky sex dungeon and the other is some kind of secret observation room. I’ve seen a door with a keypad down there on the right behind the bar. His phone passcode is 2-3-3-4 so try that first, okay?”

Claire exchanged a terrified glance with her sister as she opened the door and paused to listen.

“Where is everyone else?”

“Most of them are still down there,” Charlie whispered. “Please be careful. Don’t burst in and raise the alarm.”

“I won’t.” Claire closed the door behind her. She would rather cut her own foot off than burst into a room full of homicidal maniacs. She had a simple job to do. A bulleted item on her never-ending To Do list. Find Brianna and call 9-1-1.

As she crept down the carpeted stairs, her breathing was ragged, like she had just run a half marathon. The walls were painted a matte black, and every couple of feet recessed lighting shone down like spotlights. The slanted ceiling glittered like the night sky. She wasn’t exactly an expert, but the whole setup seemed like a tripping hazard.

She hit the bottom of the stairs and scanned the room. Had she just descended into one of the levels of hell? Hardwood floors ran underfoot. The walls were covered in the same matte black from the stairwell. It was obnoxiously dark. A pool table with a black top was at one end of the finished basement. Behind her stood a dark recording booth. Movie theater seats were just visible behind a partially open door. And there in front of her was the stone-front bar.

She stepped around it and peered at the door. There was the keypad, just like Charlie said. Light flickered under the door.

Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch the keypad. Was she about to barge into a room full of people who wanted to kill her? What if the code didn’t work?

She entered the code Charlie had mentioned, 2-3-3-4. The keypad flashed green and the door swung open. Thank god he was a creature of habit. She peered inside. Empty. She hurried inside and shut the door behind her. The first secret room was somewhere between a recording studio booth and policeinterrogation room. An eight-foot panel of what she desperately hoped was two-way glass lined the front of the room. Couches stood along the wall behind her. A wardrobe of some sort was at the far end of the room, next to a mini fridge and a water cooler.

How many body fluids had been expressed in this room? Her stomach clenched as she ducked underneath the mirror and crawled over to the wardrobe. She pressed herself between it and the wall and slowly slid her way up.

The view that greeted her was something out of a nightmare. Brianna sat in the center of the room, stripped down to her bra and panties, bound to a chair and gagged. Her hair was disheveled and matted with blood, and her eyes were open wide in terror. Mascara streaked down her cheeks. Her ankles were bound to the legs of the chair.

If Claire hadn’t been medicated, the sight would have undoubtedly sent her into the worst panic attack of her life. She rubbed her wrists where Barney had tied her to the pillar, and then her most recent abductor had zip-tied her. She needed to focus and put the fear behind her. They had her sister, and they were going to pay.

A dozen completely naked men sat in a semi-circle around her, lounging and chatting as though a twenty-one-year-old girl wasn’t being tortured in front of them. The number of wrinkly ball sacks was truly nauseating.

The room was painted black from floor to ceiling. Heavy red drapes lined the windowless walls. Penis-shaped candles were placed in sconces every few feet, the only source of lighting in the room. A sex swing hung in the corner. A free-standing saddle with a large dildo attached was in another corner. Some kind of torture rack stood off to the side.

Claire’s stomach heaved, and tears pricked her eyes. Her baby sister. What had she been through? Thank god she wasalive, but how was she going to free her from this place? She pulled out her phone and immediately dialed 9-1-1.

Or at least she tried to. She drew the phone away from her ear. There was no service. How? They were in the middle of the Hollywood Hills. Who would have better reception than some of the richest people in America?

She tried texting Charlie and then Luke, but her phone chastised her with “message failed.” She was alone, and Brianna was in the next room surrounded by naked murderers.

Shit, were those footsteps on the stairs? Her heart flew into her throat. There was only one place to hide. She darted inside the wardrobe. Seconds after she stepped onto an unidentified pile of what seemed to be even more rubbery dildos, the door popped open.

“No, she needs to stay upstairs until this is done. She’s not leaving until TMZ drops the story.” There was the suffocating cologne again. That had to be Big Z.

“Couldn’t she come down here where we can keep an eye on her? That’s how you lost one of your Grammys.”

Claire’s mouth hardened into a thin line. That was Professor Taylor’s voice. Something leathery brushed against her in the wardrobe, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. Hopefully it was just a riding crop and not a live snake.

There was definitely the sound of skin slapping against skin. The professor grunted. Did Big Z just slap her old, shitty business professor?

“Are you stupid?” The rapper’s voice carried in the small room. “This is her sister. We’d have to take them both, and that’s not on the agenda for tonight. I need her. She can’t know this bitch is here. Not even Charlie would cover that up for me.”

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