Page 76 of Riot's Thorn
“Okay. Consider it done.”
“Was there a funeral?” I ask. It’s something I’ve been wondering the whole time I was with Riot.
“No. With you missing and the nature of his death, it was decided the morgue would hold his body until decisions could be made. Now that we know you’re alive and well, I’m glad we waited so you can plan the service you’d like for him.”
Cremate him and flush his ashes down the drain.“Right. Okay.”
“I can help you. You don’t have to decide everything on your own or all at once.”
“I appreciate that. Will you go inside with me?” I ask because I don’t think Riot would abduct me again with Roland around to witness it, and he won’t kill an innocent person. At least, I don’t think he would.
“Sure.” He offers me an elbow. “Cameron stepped in to keep the company running while the lawyers debated what to do. Your dad listed you as the executor of his estate, but since you were missing, everyone was scrambling.”
I hate that my initial thought is wondering if Dad’s VP was also involved in this sex ring. He’s the same age as Dad, and they were friends, so it wouldn’t surprise me. I wish I had Killer’s number so I could call and ask if her research showed his involvement.
“I’ll have to thank him.” We reach the front door, and I panic, wondering what I’m walking into.
Roland notices my hesitation. “Don’t worry. I had a clean-up crew come once the police were done collecting evidence. Then, I brought in a construction company to repair the walls, flooring, and everything else that had been damaged.”
“Good. I sound like a broken record, but thank you.”
“Your dad was good to me, and he’ll be missed.”
“Sure,” I say, because I don’t have it in me to pretend.
Walking through the door is a surreal experience. The cozy foyer opens to an expansive area, where the ceiling is as tall as the three-story house. Looking up, you can see the open hallways on each level.
The second and third floors are bedroom suites, each with its own bathroom, small wet bar, and sitting area. Each level also has a shared living space. On the main level, there’s a formal sitting room, kitchen, formal dining room, a library, and four separate offices that, when the house was built, were the living quarters for the staff.
The first space we come to is the formal sitting room. It appears to have been untouched, but across from it is the formal dining room, which was where I spent Dad’s last minutes with him.
The glass doors have been replaced, but the table and chairs have been removed, leaving the room empty. As I step into the room, I can still hear thepopof gunshots and the shattering of glass. Opening and closing the new cabinet, I relive each moment, the absolute terror I felt.
“My dad saved my life by hiding me in here.” It’s not exactly true, but he doesn’t have to know that. I clear my throat. “I’m going to call the authorities. Can you go take care of what we discussed, please?”
“Sure. If you need anything else today, let me know. I’ll go grab the key for the cabin.” Roland gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Hang in there. You’ll get through this.”
I wait until I hear his car pull away before sinking to the floor, drawing my knees to my chest. Conflicting emotions war within me, battling for control. Riot was wrong for killing Dad, but Dad was wrong for what he did. Somehow, murder seems like less of an offense, but is that because I have feelings for Riot?
Forcing myself to my feet, I do what I came here to do. The door to the basement is locked, as always, but I find the key in Dad’s office. It’s one of the rooms that didn’t come under gunfire, but it’s clearly been searched by the cops. Not his safe, though. That’s still locked up tight.
If Riot’s right, then Bart somehow stopped the cops from going downstairs and discovering Dad’s disgusting sins, and there’s a chance the creep has already cleared it out to get rid of any evidence. Maybe there’s a chance he was waiting until things calmed down, or maybe because I was missing, he didn’t feel a sense of urgency to get it done.
My hand shakes as I push the key into the lock and turn. Did Dad keep women and children down there? Were they there each time we had family dinner? Oh, god. Are they down there right now?
As I descend stairs I’ve never been down, my stomach roils, and I’m petrified at what I might find. My heart races and my breaths come fast, as if I just ran a marathon. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.
In my head, I was picturing horse stalls with naked women chained to posts, a heavy stench of urine, feces, latex, and semen in the air. That’s not what I find at all, but it’s enough to prove Riot was right about everything.
The light switch I flip makes the dark room I walk into glow red. It’s opulent, with expensive tufted leather sofas, antique end tables, and a built-in cabinet made from rich wood, but it’s everything else that catches my eye.
In the center of the room is a floor-to-ceiling, black metal cage. On each of the four sides are two chains with metal cuffs attached, enough to imprison eight people. It’s weird and definitely not something you’d typically find, but it’s not exactly a smoking gun.
Amidst the normal furniture are metal contraptions—I don’t have to know what they’re called to know what they do. Most look like padded workout benches, some with metal arms that have cuffs attached to the ends, some with stir-up attachments, again with cuffs, and one with machinery at the end that’s connected to a tube. The tube has pistons, so I don’t have to use my imagination much to put together what it does.
On the wall to my right are two long, parallel rows of hooks. The top row has silver-studded black masks that look to cover the whole face, save for small mouth and eye holes. Underneath are red silk robes with black trim.
When I think about how scared the women and children must’ve been, surrounded by men wearing this disguise, I want to throw up. It’s revolting and makes all the sweet memories I had of Dad turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze.
