Page 109 of Buried in Blood
Brooke doesn’t ask where we are.
She just stares at the broken shutters and warped siding like she’s waiting to be hurt again.
I grab the flashlight, exit the car, and round to her side.
“This way.”
We cut across the overgrown yard. I step into the house. The smell of mildew greets me like a slap in the face. I haven’t been inside of here since I took Astra. I walk over to the door on the floor.
I kneel and pull it open, the hinges groaning like something dying.
Beneath it—darkness.
A concrete hole with only one way down. I grab the ladder and unfold it. Dropping it down into the cell.
Then I look at her.
“I kept someone here once,” I say softly. “She was worse off than you.”
Brooke’s lip quivers. “What happened to her?”
“She lived.”
I don’t addbarely.
She steps forward, peers down into the hollow silence, then back at me.
“Is it locked from the outside?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a light?”
I nod. “One.”
She doesn’t hesitate.
She climbs down slowly, step by step, until her white dress disappears into the dark.
I follow after her and shut the trap door above us.
The light flickers on.
Dim. Yellow. Faintly buzzing.
Inside is a bed with fresh sheets, a crate with water bottles and protein bars, and a stack of clothes folded neatly beside a wool blanket. The air smells stale, and a mix of survival.
I crouch beside her.
“There are no cameras. No chains. No rules here.”
I had removed the cameras per Dante’s request.
Her voice is paper-thin. “Why are you helping me?”
I study her face. The bruises beneath make-up. The brand peeking from her collar. The terror still radiated from every inch of her skin.
“Because he doesn’t get to keep what he breaks,” I whisper.
