Page 63 of Ruthless Riches
16
Alexis
Hunger pangs gnawedat my stomach as I sat and waited for the Butcher’s return. My throat was parched, too.
For the last several hours, I’d refused to eat or drink anything in my cell. The stuff was always laced with benzos or painkillers, and I didn’t want to pass out. I needed to stay wide awake to see what happened next.
I was terrified of what I might encounter if I dared to close my eyes for a second. Terrified it was all part of a sick joke the Butcher was playing—pretending that my sister was safe when he actually planned to bring her back here and shove her in the opposite cell as soon as I thought I was safe to rest.
Footsteps suddenly echoed in the tunnel, somewhere to my left.
“Hey!” I gripped the bars and squinted into the darkness. “Where’s my sister?”
The Butcher stepped into the dim candlelight a moment later, silent as ever. As usual, he had a bag with him.
He knelt by the bag and pulled out some packaged snack food. Then he slipped it through the bars. “You need to eat,” the robotic voice on his phone told me a few seconds later.
I gritted my teeth. “No. Not until I know where Sascha is.”
“Your sister is fine. As promised, I returned her to the surface.”
“Is she okay?” I asked, eyes wide.
He answered my question with a curt nod.
“Did you drug her?”
There was a long pause as the Butcher typed out another message. Then the tinny computerized voice echoed through the air again. “Yes, and she’s forgotten she ever saw you,” it said. “I dumped her in an alleyway near a bar she often visits, so when she woke up there with no memories of the last week or so, she assumed she was a drink spiking victim. She called your boyfriend and asked him to take her to the hospital, and her test results came back clean. Now she thinks she simply passed out from exhaustion.”
I narrowed my gaze on the tragedy mask. “How do you know all of that?”
“I was there watching them,” came the response. “I’m always watching.”
I slowly shook my head. “You won’t get away with this. Sascha will remember eventually.”
“No, she won’t.”
I glowered at him. “Even if you’re right about that, it doesn’t matter, because the hospital would’ve contacted the police over a possible drink spiking incident. They’ll check out every CCTV camera in or around that bar and the alleyway you left Sascha in. They’ll see you dumping her there, and they’ll realize who you are and what you did. Then they’ll be able to track your movements from the area and figure out where you go every day and night.”
There was a stifled chuckle behind the mask as the Butcher tapped out a response. “There isn’t a single camera on that part of the street. The closest is a traffic camera on the north end, but I didn’t go anywhere near there.”
I let out a short sigh and sat down on the velvet seat. Despite the chaotic nature of his crimes, the Butcher was always organized. Always one step ahead.
“Why did you come here today?” I asked, glancing up at the ugly mask. “To gloat?”
“No. I came to feed you. I also came to tell you that I need to move you soon.”
My brows furrowed. “Why?”
“The police will find this place eventually. It’s only a matter of time,” said the robotic voice. “I think it’ll take them another month, at least, but I don’t want to risk it. I want to be long-gone from here by the time they arrive.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“I’m not sure yet. Any suggestions?” came the response. Another stifled chuckle floated through the air as the Butcher wrote another message. “In all seriousness, I think I’ll probably buy a house on a big property somewhere up north. I can keep you in the basement. No one will see or hear you.”
My eyes closed, and I sagged against the dusty wall. “Just kill me,” I muttered.
“No.”
