Page 142 of Depravity

He strides off, leaving me to follow and I’m quick on his heels, practically stamping on his shadow. We reach the end. The basement was clearly built for an older structure than the one standing. It’s made of solid stone, it’s dank, musty. I stare at the blocks, at the cavernous ceiling. It feels like we’re something built for the Romans, something ancient. Something with serious history.

“She needs a doctor.” Antonio says, turning to face me.

No shit, like I don’t know that. They cut her fucking tongue out. I doubt she’s in perfect health.

He places his hand on my chest as if in warning, and I shove him off.

There’s a wooden door ahead, and a room built probably once for food storage or supplies, but it’s freezing fucking cold as I step in. It’s pitch black too.

I squint against the darkness as an awful smell hits my nose.

It’s hard not to choke, not to cough. I have to pull my jumper up to cover my lower face as the overwhelming stench of piss and shit makes me physically gag.

Behind me, Antonio shines a light. It’s like a beam, a halo, highlighting the curled-up creature in the furthest part of the space.

There’s a bag over their head. A shitty, scratchy bag with a suspicious stain right where someone’s mouth would be. Their hands are bound with coarse rope.

And the sound. That broken, gurgling crackle comes from under the fabric as if they’re trying to scream, but they no longer know how.

They’re rocking, shaking, though I can’t tell if it’s from fear of just the freezing temperature.

“Brynn?” I murmur.

The body freezes.

No, not the body.Herbody.

I step forward, my boot squelching into something my mind registers as human excrement. And I kneel down, ignoring the disgusting dampness that seeps into my trousers. It takes some effort to untie the bag, to get it off her head.

Her eyes are shut, and her face is screwed up in pain. There’s a trail of dried blood coming from her mouth, down her lips, down her chin.

“Fucking hell,” I murmur.

She lets out a whimper that sounds so strange.

I don’t bother to untie her wrists. I just scoop her up, feeling how frail and broken she is.

Is it my imagination that she leans into me? That she welcomes my touch?

Maybe she’s just so cold that she needs the warmth of my body to heat her up.

As I carry her out into the hallway, Antonio’s men all fall silent and openly stare.

I let out a snarl, realising that my wife is completely naked right now, that all of them are getting a good view of her.

Antonio snaps his fingers, silently signalling for them to look the fuck away because I’m so close to grabbing hold of his pistol and killing each and every one of them.

I don’t bother to thank him, I don’t bother to say another word. I just walk out, holding her tight against me. When we get to the front of the house, I can see the SUVs are up on the drive and I place her inside.

For a second, her eyes open and I swear I see the flicker of horror on her face as she realises it’s me, that I have her. But then that fear seems to go, that panic seems to ease.

I mutter about finding a driver, because I sure as fuck am not getting behind the wheel right now. No, I want to be with her, holding her, never letting her out my arms again.

But as I step away, she reaches out. She whimpers more, and I swear she tries to say my name. She tries to say the word ‘Conrad’.

My wife. She needs me. She wants me.

As broken and as damaged as she now is, she finally gets it. She finally fucking gets it.

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