Page 133 of The King of Hearts

“Where’s the entrance?” I ask my father.

“Follow me.”

I don’t know where he gets the strength from, but he stalks off past the oak tree with sure steps. There’s a slight limp, and his shoulders are still slumped, but his gait is stronger than it was earlier.

We come up to a set of thick bushes. They’re a bit greener than the surrounding shrubbery. If a random person came along, they wouldn’t notice the difference, but if you look closely enough, you can tell they’re fake. He reaches down inside one of the bushes, and there’s a soft snick. When he reaches further down and grunts as he tries to lift a door, I move beside him and take over the task. I don’t even know why he bothered. The door is heavy as fuck. There’s no way he could have lifted it on his own in his condition.

“How big is it down there?” Alexander asks, peering down into the black hole I just uncovered. There’s a set of metal rungs that lead down into a pit of blackness.

“It’s the size of a small three-bedroom house,” Antonio answers. “At the bottom, take a left. That’ll lead to the main part. The right only houses a bank of generators and the electrical room.”

“Are there cameras? Alarms that’ll alert them of our presence?”

“Does it fucking matter?” Bishop growls.

I glower at him. “No, but it takes away the element of surprise.”

“Yes to both.”

“Fucking great,” Bishop mutters.

I slip both guns into the waistband in the back of my pants and take the first rung. I glare at the others. “Savina’s safety is the most important thing. She gets out no matter what. But if possible, I want Aiden alive. I’ll deal with him.”

“Ryker—” Antonio starts, but I cut him off.

“Donotfucking ask me to spare him. I don’t give a fuck who he is. It only matters what he’s done. He took something precious that belongs to me. For that, he’ll suffer in the most horrific way possible.”

I’m two seconds away from pulling my gun and shooting him between the eyes. Now that I have Savina’s location, I don’t need the bastard anymore. Only my mother is what stops me.

“Son, I wasn’t going to ask you to spare him.” I grit my teeth at hearing him call me son. He hasn’t been my father for many years. “He and my brother kept me locked up, barely alive, and have stolen years of my life away from you and your mother. That man is not the son who was taken from us years ago. He’s pure evil, and it’s my brother’s fault. I was only asking to be present when you decide what you’re going to do with him.”

I give him a tight nod and make my way down the tunnel. The height is only about ten feet but it’s dark as shit once I touch the concrete floor. Alexander is directly behind me. I look to the right, but don’t see much. I look left, and about another ten feet, there are soft yellow lights lining a hall. The lights are dim enough that I still can’t make out what’s down there.

My father comes up beside me and talks loud enough for everyone to hear. “About thirty feet down, there’s a door on the left that leads into the kitchen. The bedrooms are all situated on the same side of the house, which, going by the picture you showed me, they have her in the master bedroom. Through the kitchen and dining room, then take a right. The left leads to the living room.”

I don’t bother muting my steps as I walk down the dark hall. The cameras and alarms have already alerted my brother and uncle that we’re here, so there’s no sense in trying to hide it. When they sent me that picture, they knew I’d eventually find their hidey hole, so they wanted me here. I just don’t know why. I could have asked my father if he knew what this is about, and maybe I should have, but the reasons don’t matter. What’s important is getting back what belongs to me.

My gut tightens when I think about what they’ve done to Savina. I don’t know the type of man my uncle is, but I can guess. He took Aiden when he was seven and raised him. He groomed a child and turned him into a twisted man who sexually abused another child for years. Aiden learned that behavior from personal experience, accepted it, and even let it flourish once he was old enough to stop our uncle. He doesn’t get a pass because of what was done to him.

Apparently, our family is filled with pedophiliac monsters, and it makes me sick to my fucking stomach knowing I have their blood running through my veins.

I have my own deviant vices due to what was done to me as a child. I like blood and dishing out pain. I get immense fucking pleasure seeing a person’s face twist with discomfort, knowing I’m the reason they feel it. Especially when it comes to my vicious angel. Fucking her hard and without mercy, destroying her cunt with my fingers and cock, forcing her to take it evenwhen it becomes too much. I fucking live for the pained look on her face. It’s my fucking happy place.

And when she bleeds for me? Seeing that red, life-sustaining substance drip from her body. It gives me a high nothing else can.

My depravities are from my time spent with Aunt Rosa. She molded me into the sadist I am. But the difference between Aiden and me is that he let his experience warp him into something worse than his own abuser. I get sexual gratification from inflicting pain and blood, but I don’t let it control me. And I don’t fucking touch children. There are limits you don’t cross, and even thinking about touching a child is at the top of the list.

When I get to the door my father mentioned, the grip I have on my gun tightens as I twist the knob. I have zero expectations of what’s on the other side, because it doesn’t matter. Maybe I won’t even make it through the door before there’s a gun shoved in my face. If I die, then so be it. There are seven of us and only two of them. Assuming my brother and uncle are working alone. With those odds, they can’t take us all out before we take them out. Savina will get out of here. Whether it’s in my arms or someone else’s.

The kitchen is brightly lit when I step inside the room. It’s clean with sleek surfaces, outdated appliances, and dark wood counters and cabinets. I barely spare it a glance as I move through the space and head to another doorway, which, according to my father, should lead to the dining room.

This room is small with a cherry oak six-seater table. The walls are painted the same light gray as the kitchen, and the floors are a light-brown tile. On the other side of the room is another doorway, and that’s where I go.

Impatience has my strides lengthening. At the doorway, I peek around the frame. Several doors line the hall, three on the left, two on the right. So far, our trek through the house has beensilent, so I strain my ears and listen carefully. I hear nothing, which is either a good sign or a bad one.

“The master bedroom is the last door on the right,” my father’s quiet voice reaches my ears.

With my jaw clenched and my finger grazing the trigger, I step out into the hallway and head in that direction. I pause at each door I pass, pressing my ear against it. When I reach the last one on the right, silence is all I hear on the other side of it.

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