Page 18 of Worship

“Milton,” Blake says, eyes fixed at the entrance.

Standing by the door and dressed in all black with a gun in hand, stands a man I believe might be the devil himself. Dark, cold eyes connect with mine before going back to Blake. “Hope he wasn’t a friend.”

“Been trying to find a reason to kill that fucker for months,” Blake chuckles, and I can’t believe he’s laughing when there’s a dead man on his floor. “You still looking for a job?”

“Yeah,” Milton replies. “What you got?”

I’m dragged to my feet, a hand grabbing the back of my neck. Blake’s lips slams against mine. It’s a brutal force, and my lips feel bruised after he’s finished. Then, he tosses me at the man—Milton. Arms catch me and hold me there. “Kill anyone who touches her. The bitch ismine.”

Chapter Eight

I’m starting to believe this place is nothing but a maze of closed doors that hide mysteries I’m better off not knowing.

As Milton continues leading me through this place, I’ve been trying to keep track of the tunnels we venture down, and how many turns we take.

Though, easier said than done, given that every damn one appears the same. Nothing stands out that might set them apart, and I think it’s on purpose, to confuse those unfamiliar with the layout. It’s a harrowing reminder that there’s no way I will find a way out if Milton gives me any reason to run.

After passing another row of black doors, we finally stop outside one like the rest. After unlocking it, he lingers behind me, a silent order for me to enter first.

Ambling inside, my lips instantly part as I take in the room we’ve just entered. The red glare is gone. Standard lighting shows we’re now in a large space painted black. Leather couches sit opposite a long open fire embedded into the wall. However, the flames are the only thing warm about this place. There’s not much else in here—a sleek black table and ceiling-high shelves with books and other inanimate objects. Nothing to Gabriella’s taste; she would complain about the masculinity and gothic design. “Would you like a drink?” Milton asks, his presence still behind me.

“Just get on with it.” The quiver in my voice makes me cringe, betraying my nerves. How much longer can I keep this up?

“Patience.” Brushing past me, he crosses the room and goes through a different entry. When I hear what sounds like a cupboard bang, I whirl around and grab the handle, twisting and pulling. As I knew it would be, it’s locked, but it was worth a try—

“Going somewhere?” I spin around. He’s back, holding a glass of red wine. His tie is missing, the top button of his shirt undone, and hair slightly mussed as if he’s just run a hand through it. Shaking his head, he moves over to the couch and takes a seat. “How do you suppose to get outside and find your way back to Fair Haven in the dark? Granted, you manage to get past security…and my dogs.”

“You’re keeping me prisoner?”

He takes a sip from the glass and smiles behind the rim. After swallowing, he lowers it to the table. “I haven’t made up my mind. Sit.”

My insides shudder with unease. He could be messing with me further, and knowing emotion drives his decisions, a knot forms in my stomach. He hates me, and hate leads people to do heartless things. Still, I know I’m going to have to play along if I want him to reveal what the hell he wants from me.

I sit away from him on the opposite couch and cross my arms over my chest. “Why am I here?” I know time is only a commodity to men like Milton, yielding it however they want. Whatever way suits their victim.

“Because I want you to be.”

“Stop.” My fists clench on my lap. “Delaying the inevitable for whatever desired effect you’re trying to achieve isn’t going to work.”

“You’re right, I am delaying. But maybe I like seeing how much I get under your skin.”

Anger claws at my insides. “You haven’t gotten anywhere, and your efforts of pretending not to know me were hilarious given I know who the fuck you are. How could I forgetyou?”

He leans back, hair falling over his face. He doesn’t move it away, and it only makes him ten times more intimidating. “And that’s when I tell you you’ve never known me. Not in the slightest.”

“What do you want?”

“What do youthinkI want?” he counters.

“I thought revenge but taking me here…now I think you want something else. Surely a man who brings a girl into a basement of a mansion desires something fucked up, wouldn’t you think?”

What I say rolls off my tongue, admittedly too well, and he laughs. “Your defense mechanism is tacky, and now I know why I found you in Stonehill.”

“Right,” I call his bluff. “All those times at the club, you didn’t once wonder why Blake was so obsessed? Why he had you put bullets in people’s heads for me?”

“You tell me?” He’s amused, and it unsettles me. Shifting again, he leans forward, this time resting his elbows on his knees. My heart stops, the action reminding me so much of the man who watched me walk across the room, waiting to strike down anyone who so much as tried to touch me. “Don’t get shy on me now. Go ahead.”

My lips press together, and he breathes a laugh as if knowing there’s no fight left in me. Instead, I ask the obvious, “What is this place? Why am I here?”

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