Page 35 of Lovely Venom
My pulse kicks up remembering how he looked at me. How it anchored into my soul, something I’ve never felt before.
I keep walking down a ramp, pushing that out of my head, and then stop short when I see it. An actual goddamn torture chamber.
Chains dangle from the ceiling. Rusted cuffs hang from rings on the wall. A marble slab on an iron frame with leather straps sits in the corner. A metal grate over a drain in the center of the room startles me the most. The white tiles stained with more dried blood circle the drain in a gruesome pattern.
Startled, I look for cameras, but I’m not surprised to see none. Too risky. An operation like this being filmed 24/7? Law enforcement has great hackers.
A workbench bolted against one wall is lined with tools. Hammers, pliers, and wire cutters. Clamps, scalpels, and a goddamnbone saw. Rope and zip ties hang in neat coils, like he restocks them after every use.
“Damn, Connor, I am seriously turned on here.”
That’snot good.
I spin around and take in how neat and organized this place is. An odd memory of my mother’s scrapbooking days with her cart meticulously stocked and organized flashes at me.
This isn’t Connor’s job for his mob family.
It’s his passion.
A shiver of excitement races down my spine.
I like him.
But I’m supposed to kill him.
I run my fingers over the hilt of a knife on my thigh, my brain flickering back to the way his lips curved aroundthe wordnimh.
Frustrated, I take out my phone, surprised I have a signal. That only tells me there’s a repeater here somewhere. I look up the wordnimhin Gaelic and startle at the result.
Venom.
Poison?Me?
“I’m not the one with a killing basement, bucko!”
Deeper into the chamber, I spot a small kitchen in the corner. Nothing fancy, just a sink, a few cabinets above, and a narrow, dated stove. Next to it, there’s a stackable washer and dryer. On the other side of that wall, I giggle at the worn leather recliner in front of an old television.
I picture a tired Connor taking a break to check the weather while someone bleeds out on his table. Or maybe he watches a game show while someone is hanging from those chains with moments to live.
After a further glance around, I don’t see any place to sleep. I breathe in small relief. I’ve exposed plenty of nests from drug dealers who keep dirty beds for raping women. There’s also no sofa. Just that one recliner.
Then I spot the only other door. Valdrin said I need to explore all exits. Tiptoeing that way, I worry I’m getting deeper and deeper, and my escape grows further and further away.
That door also isn’t locked, so I open it and sigh at another daunting passageway with concrete floors and pipes lining the walls. Ahead is nothing but more musty darkness. Instead of my headlamp this time, I pull out my mini flashlight and flick it on. Noise from above jerks my head up. A metal catwalk stretches out the entire length of this passageway.
I close the door behind me, making sure it remains unlocked.
I amble into the path, feeling the darkness swallow meup with each step, all while my heart beats like crazy. My flashlight makes loops, looking for another entrance. The ding of metal above happens again, and I see the outline of a rat.
I stride along quickly, not wanting to be peed or defecated on, and watch the rodent continue its journey with purpose in the opposite direction.
The clattering fades as I keep moving through the darkness. At certain breaks in the passageway, I look up and see that the catwalk is joined by other sections left and right. Halfway through, a steel ladder gives me hope that there’s an alternate way out of here. Only, a welded-shut manhole sits above it.
Great.
I shine the flashlight toward the end of this tunnel. A burgundy steel door with silver rivets stands ominous and out of place.
I grin.
