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“I know that,” I replied darkly. “That fucker deserves what he gets. He fucking shot me.”
The screaming continued, broken between short bursts of silence before it would pick up again. At some point, David had fled outside to the backyard, looking a bit green. I guess his special agent training didn’t include listening to torture. Killian and I, however, sat still as stone. Unaffected. Uncaring.
“I really hope your neighbors aren’t home,” Killian muttered.
“Soundproof walls,” I replied automatically.
He glanced up at me in surprise. “What?”
“There’s extra mass to the walls, all the windows have high-quality storm panes, and all the doors are solid. Just in case.”
“In case of what?” He looked torn between feeling impressed and slightly horrified. “What the hell would you do here?”
“Scream.” I wasn’t technically lying. This house was my escape when I needed to get away from my father. I did scream…in frustration, anger, whatever. “But sometimes I liked to just shoot things. Most of this furniture has been replaced four or five times.”
Killian gave me an odd look as if he couldn’t quite understand me. “I guess that’s what we get for growing up in this life, huh?”
“And more.” He had no idea. From what I knew, Killian grew up separate from this world, and Dante had taken the brunt of it. Like Gemma and I. He might have been frustrated from being excluded. He might have even resented his brother for stealing the spotlight, even from behind the scenes. But he would never know what it was like to truly grow up in this world.
There was no escape. Not really. This house had been my attempt to have a place of my own outside of this world. But it would only last for so long until I was forced to face reality once again. When Dante and I had first met at the club, before we even knew who—what we were—we’d talked about running away, leaving this life behind.
But we couldn’t. It would follow us for the rest of our existence. We had to face the hand we were dealt in this world.
Even if that meant torturing one of our own in the basement, their screams echoing in our ears.
We paused as the screaming stopped abruptly. Neither one of us dared to move. Dared to breathe even. It wasn’t until we heard Dante’s footsteps on the stairs that we took a breath. He didn’t head straight to the kitchen. We could hear the bathroom door in the hall shut before the water turned on. It seemed like an eternity before Dante finally entered the kitchen.
His shirt was gone, tossed somewhere between here and the basement. His hands and arms were wet, which he promptly wiped on his jeans. He didn’t look at either of us as he slumped into a chair. Exhaustion was etched into the lines on his face, in the curve of his shoulders. I knew he’d done what he’d needed to for us, but it had taken its toll on him.
“Where the hell is David?” he asked, glancing around, still avoiding our eyes. He stole Killian’s cup of coffee, downing it in a few gulps.
“Outside. I’ll go get him.” Killian disappeared out the back door. We could hear him calling David’s name through the crack he’d left open.
I didn’t ask if Dante was alright. I could see the hard look in his eye. There were flecks of blood splattered across his jaw that he’d missed. I resisted the urge to grab a napkin and wipe it away.
Killian reappeared with David in tow. The agent still looked a bit green, but at least he’d gotten his shit together. I glanced away, trying to preserve whatever was left of his dignity. Killian, on the other hand, looked downright amused that he could handle the sounds of torture better than a fancy suit. As soon as he sat down at the table, however, any hint of amusement disappeared.
“What did you learn?” Killian asked immediately, leaning forward. His eyes were locked on Dante, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table.
“I didn’t get much out of him. Fucker was tough,” Dante replied darkly. “But you knew that. I’m surprised I even got what I did out of him. ”
Killian nodded. “Never liked Ivan, but that motherfucker was strong.” He shivered slightly, a memory in his eyes. Dante shot him a sharp look.
“What about Mateo?” I asked, heart lodging in my throat. “Did you find out if Ivan knows anything about where he might be?”
Dante sighed. “No. Either he really didn’t know, or he refused to tell me. But he said nothing about where Mateo might be.”
I closed my eyes, fear thrumming through me. Ivan might not have known about Mateo’s kidnapping. Or Mateo might already be dead. I didn’t know–and that’s what terrified me more than anything. Mateo was like my uncle. He was family. And I wasn’t ready to lose him too.
Dante hesitated. “Sienna, you might have to prepare yourself for the possibility that Mateo…might have gone willingly.”
“What are you talking about?” I snapped. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Dante and Killian exchanged looks. “How can you be sure. Ivan–”
“You weren’t as close to Ivan as I was to Mateo,” I said vehemently. “He’s the only family I have left. And I’m not just going to give up on him.”
“So…what did you find out?” Killian asked, distracting Dante.
