Page 94 of Firethorne
“You’re wasting time here, with us,” he went on. “Time that could be used to save Damien, if he’s still alive. Just let us go. Please.”
“And let you run away like you always do?” I shot back. “You knew what was going on in this house. You knew what he wasdoing. You’re as guilty as your father. You deserve to die. You both do.”
I saw Lysander stiffen, but Miriam just laughed.
“Then you have a dilemma,sweetheart,” she sneered. “Stay here and kill us or let us go and save him. You might be too late, already. But if you stay here and take us on, the sand in his timer will definitely have run out. So, what’s it going to be?”
I hated that she was right.
I didn’t have time for this.
“I will find you,” I hissed, pushing the knife into her neck one last time. “And I will kill you. You won’t get away with this.”
Reluctantly, I took the knife off her neck and stepped back.
Instantly, Miriam raced over to the door, shouting to Lysander, “Let’s get out of here.”
Lysander followed her, but before he walked out of the door, he stopped and turned to look at me.
“I really am sorry, Maya. And you were right. I’d guessed what was happening here, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing at all.”
“Save it for someone who gives a shit,” I sneered and turned my back on him to run down the corridor, heading for the cellar.
Once I reached the kitchen, I shoved the doors open and they slammed off the walls. There was no one here. The kitchen was empty and quiet, except for the buzz of the electrical appliances.
The light of the moon shone over the pristine worktops. Mrs Richardson wasn’t in here, and I don’t know why I’d expected her to be. But as I stood for a second, holding my breath and gazing around, I heard a scream, and I darted into action, hurtling across the room and through the door that’d lead me down to the depths of this place called hell.
I flew down the small staircase, thankful that I knew this part of the house after being down here myself for so many days, because it was pitch black, and all I had at my disposal were mywits, acute senses, and a knife that I gripped so tightly it felt like it’d become a part of me.
When I reached the bottom, I peered around. One of the rooms in the cellar was in darkness, the other was dimly lit. Then an almighty crack resounded off the walls, and Damien screamed in response. I bolted, charging into the dimly lit cellar, ready to rain hell.
And then I stopped, my already splintered heart bleeding freely when I saw what they’d done.
Damien’s arms were above his head, and his wrists were shackled to the wall. He hung his head as blood dripped onto the dusty floor. But even though his body was broken and bleeding, and his bare chest was full of cuts from the lashes they’d inflicted on him, he hadn’t given up. His muscles flexed, fighting the pain as he spat blood on the floor and growled through his clenched teeth.
The men stood in front of him, holding whips in their hands as they prepared to give him another lashing. A table of knives and weapons was waiting for them off to the side, but I wouldn’t let them get to that stage.
“Get the fuck away from him,” I growled, holding my knife out in front of me and bracing myself, as I took up a stance, ready to fight.
The two men turned around, and when they saw me, they started to laugh.
“I fucking mean it,” I hissed, and I saw Damien lift his head to look at me, his eyes wide as he said, “No, Maya. Get out of here. Fucking go.”
“Not without you,” I stated, stepping back as the men moved closer to me.
“What are you gonna do with that, sweetheart?” one of them sneered as he pointed at my knife. “I’d be careful if I were you. You might hurt yourself.”
The other one laughed at his partner and then cracked his whip in my direction, but I moved away just in time, faltering a little and praying they didn’t notice.
This was my only chance.
I held my knife firmly, determined to show I could fight, but they weren’t scared of me or the damage I could do. They were amused, and by the way they gave each other a wickedly sinful grin, they thought they’d just been gifted a new toy to play with.
“Get on the floor and put your hands behind your head,” I commanded.
“Whatever you say, love,” the other one said, mocking me and blowing me a kiss. Then he threw his whip to the floor and pulled out a flick knife from his back pocket and opened it. “Or we can play a little game.” He cocked his head. “We like games.”
“We really do,” the first one bragged, and as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his weapon, gunshots rang out, and I dropped to the floor.
