Page 2 of Silent Vendetta (Vendetta Duet)

My feet slammed against the floor, my breaths echoing off the walls and burning my lungs as I sprinted toward the spiral staircase—while Hunter’s footsteps thundered behind me. Each step reverberated in the hollow space, mixing with the sound of water drops falling from the moist ceiling.

The promise of the cold banister met my palm as I jumped up the first step. Then the second.

My shirt yanked me backward though, making me shriek. I kicked my right foot back, connecting with his chest—not enough to knock him down, but enough to get his hands to release the fabric.

I charged up another step and another—each with its own clank—but Hunter grabbed my right ankle, pulling me down like an anchor, drowning me in my nightmare. My stomach clenched as I screamed and thrashed my leg around, aiming for his face, but his other hand joined my ankle and tugged.

My body flew through the air backward, landing on top of Hunter with a fresh jolt of agony that joined the injuries suffered from the car accident and Franco’s torture.

Tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision. How much more could I take?

Any question if Hunter would ever hurt me had just been answered.

Lying under me, Hunter wrapped his arms around my body so tightly, that I could barely breathe, and though I thrashed around, trying to smack my head against his nose, kicking his shins, he didn’t seem fazed by it.

It was like a bird trying to escape the jaws of a crocodile.

“Calm down,” Hunter growled.

“Screw you!”

I slammed my head back again, but it didn’t connect with his nose.

“Luna, you’re making this a lot worse than it needs to be. Just calm down and listen to me.”

Listen to me.Probably a code word forI’m sorry, but I can’t leave a witness.

I dug my elbows into his ribs, and when that didn’t work, I used my fingernails—clawing at the inches of skin I could get my nails into—but Hunter rolled to his right side and got to his feet. Still holding my damn body.

He shifted his arms so one went under my knees, the other around my shoulders, as if he were the groom on his wedding day carrying his bride over the threshold. Some part of my heart broke at that—that thought I’d found the love of my life who might carry me just like this someday. But this bride kicked and screamed and swatted at his face.

“HELP!” I screamed. “SOMEONE, HELP ME!”

“We’re underground and a hundred feet from the main house,” Hunter responded casually.

“If I scream loud enough, someone could hear me.” Maybe. Hopefully. Then again, this mansion was a long way from another house—my only hope of being heard was once the cops arrived.

Hunter’s rigid eyes met mine. “I tortured a man down here one night when you were sleeping. He was screaming, but you never even woke up.”

He what?

Jesus.

Bile rolled in my stomach.

But Hunter didn’t know what I knew—that the staircase’s door and the one in the fake closet, both of which must have completed his soundproofing, were open. He’d left them ajar today, and that’s how I found him—following Franco’s screams.

If I heard them, the police would, too, once they busted down that front door, thanks to my frantic call to Rinaldi, telling her I’d heard said screaming. Based on my math, they’d arrive in three or four minutes. And they’d find me.

Hunter entered his room and looked around.

The underground chamber created an atmosphere of brooding darkness for whatever horror he was about to unleash with the gleam of deadly blades reflecting the dim light, casting sinister shadows on the walls as if the weapons themselves were conspirators in a dark plot. The one that caught my eye right now was a fiber wire garrote—similar to one I’d seen in a crime scene photo one time, used to silently end a victim. The sight of it set my nerves on edge.

I trembled, the icy air blanketing my skin in dread, as I watched Hunter look around.

Lacking a second chair for a second torture victim, he grabbed a couple of zip ties before setting me on the floor.

Gently. Surprisingly.

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