Page 118 of Kings Fear No One
I’m in the middle of talking sense to myself, making it down the stairs that descend into the basement. My hand stretches out for the light switch at the bottom. The space is cool and dank even in the thick of summer, and shadows cloak every inch of the room.
The light flickers on, weak and dim.
My eyebrows jerk together. The draft in the air invades my lungs, making it hard to breathe again.
I’m not alone.
Chained to a chair on the opposite side of the room is none other than Mandy. She’s withered and grimy, in torn clothes that hang off her emaciated frame. Her limp fiery red hair drapes her face in thin sheets. She glances up at me with sunken eyes and a snarl of her lip.
“Well, if it isn’t my little sweetheart. I didn’t expect to see you down here. You’ve missed me?”
A startled breath bursts out of me as I falter to a stop where I am. I had forgotten what Mick had warned me about—the Kings have been using the basement as an interrogation cell for the Chosen Saints they’ve captured. It started out with Xavier before he died. Mandy’s their latest prisoner.
My heart skips inside my chest, the range of complicated emotions playing from the top. Panic that threatens to take root. Shock that she’s greeting me with affection. Unexpected anger that kindles to life. A slow burn that torches the other emotions down.
How dare she?!
“What is it, sweetheart?” she asks, adding a shrill cackle. “You mean you’re not happy to see me?”
I’m not sure how to behave. I’m stiff as I step toward the collection of liquor in the corner. My legs feel more like wooden stilts than anything.
Get in. Get out. Don’t even acknowledge her.
“I expected him, not you. My stallion boy. Did you know he’s been coming down to see me?”
Her cackle fills the room some more, bouncing off the walls. I reach for the bottles of whiskey and notice how my hands shake. From anger? From more panic? I’m not sure.
But I don’t think I’ve ever wished more ill on someone than I do Mandy in this moment.
For what she did to me. For what she did to Logan.
“He’s pretty rough, my stallion boy. Did you know that?” she asks, her nasty smile widening. “Just the way I like it. But you were a favorite too, sweetheart. So pretty, so untouched. So easy for us to train. That’s why the Leader called upon you so many times?—”
“Stop it!” I scream. The bottle of whiskey I’ve grabbed onto slips out of my grasp and shatters onto the floor. I leap back as shards of glass scatter.
Bile rushes me all at once. The nausea an onslaught that doesn’t care about time or place.
I scramble for the nearby sink basin and spill my stomach contents inside it.
Mandy laughs. She convulses against her bindings in the chair as her witchy cackle rings out.
I’m stuck retching, my head in the sink, eyes watery and throat sore.
“Teysha? My god, what’s going on down here?”
Mick hobbles down the last of the basement stairs and hurries over to help me. He snatches a towel off a shelf and hands it over to me, his hand gentle on my back.
“Let’s get you upstairs. Why’d you come down here? I can get the White Oak myself, darling.” He slides his arm around me to guide me toward the staircase, throwing a dirty look in Mandy’s direction. “I heard the bottle shatter and came rushing down. The girls said you’d gone to the stockroom.”
“I couldn’t find…” I trail off, the queasy feeling going nowhere. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to worry anyone.”
Mick’s bushy white brows crease, but he gives a nod. “Alright, head on upstairs. I’ll handle this mess.”
Korine asks me several times if I’m okay and still up for Sydney’s bachelorette party. With my earlier bout of nausea gone, I reassure her that I am.
