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Ignoring her and her irritating whining voice, I dropped down the steps into the basement.
The room was a grim place, and it smelled atrocious.
A body hung from a ceiling hook, stripped of its flesh and quite a few organs. It was impossible to tell if it was male or female, but it was small—either drastically underweight or a child.
A step took me closer.
My borrowed sneaker kicked the bucket on the floor, and I hoped that wasn’t symbolism that my life would end in a place like this, eaten by the fucking dogs on my way out of existence.
The bucket was filled with organs for donating or eating. A heart, liver, and intestines sat on top.
Good thing I didn’t have a weak stomach.
My knuckles guided the body around.
Red hair didn’t snake down this person’s back—but that told me nothing because this person’s whole scalp was missing. A terrified look of pain and fear was frozen on their face. Tears had caused tracks in their blood, and one eye was missing.
It reminded me of my promise to right my wrongs and the woman I’d made it to. And why I was here.
A gut feeling told me this body wasn’t Cat, and I couldn’t describe it, but I knew I was right.
Shifting through the low-lit room, I came to another set of steps. The door leading out was unlocked, positioning me in a square where more doors surrounded me, all of them open.
The first door on the left looked like a poorly organized office. Papers lay scattered on a cluttered desk that was too big for the space. A bookshelf that could rival Jolie’s sat behind it.
I continued moving.
The living room had already bored me from the outside, not offering me what I needed—a certain trafficked redhead.
The dining room was opposite, with no plates or cutlery laid out.
I followed the length of the shiny table to another door and stepped into a winding corridor that took me back to the other side of the house.
The place was a fucking maze, and I couldn’t wait to get out of it. I pushed the door at the other end and found myself in the kitchen.
It was clear to see why the view needed restricting.
The kitchen was a mess. The tables were lined with weapons. Tiny knives sat on the center table, and much bigger ones were on the counter behind.
Cages lined one wall, five to be exact. Too small for the crumpled bodies inside.
The smell of their fear crept out with the trail of piss from one cage. The girl inside trembled, causing the bars to rattle. Her tiny fingers wiggled through the cage, hooking with the girl in the cage to her left, and that girl’s did the same with the one to her left, too. They huddled as close as they could, ignoring the other girl, who, for some reason, they’d chosen to neglect of the comfort they offered to each other.
She sat with her head down, her fingers wiggling through the bars, too, but no one touched them. Her other hand held the hand of the person in the cage next to her—a child who couldn’t have been any older than eight.
Her little blue lips looked cold. Her glassy blue eyes were still fixed on the woman who held her hand.
They all froze as I stepped closer, their fingers locking tight. Stuttered breaths hurt their traumatized lungs, and three heads hit the top of their cages. The other woman didn’t move. Her red hair still hung over her face as I dropped to my knees.
I pushed a finger into her wiggling ones.
“Look at me.”
She responded to my command, her hair parting to expose her sad eyes, so beautifully unique. A flurry of emotions burst free from whatever had kept them trapped inside me, pain, anger, fucking relief, and despite the situation, I couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Hello, my girl.”
Long eyelashes fanned her cheeks as she blinked me in like she had no idea who I was. Her face was different, older but still beautiful. Her eyes shone with determination, not fear, and her perfect pouty lips spread to ask me something.
