It has been about a week since I fell back into my boring little routine...eat, sleep, and repeat.
Only difference? Viviana doesn't seem to care anymore if I, Clara, and Beatrice talk. No snide remarks, no "you are not supposed to be here," no icy stares. It is weird. And Lucien? He has been a ghost. Not a single visit since that dinner in my room. I haven't decided if I am relieved or annoyed about that.
Now it is three in the morning, and I am half-slouched on the couch in the hall, remote dangling from my hand, watching some geeky sitcom about a group of geeky guys going crazy for a hot chick who lives right across the hall.
My eyes are gritty from lack of sleep, my hair a messy bun. I will probably regret trying to untangle it later. That's when I hear it.
A man's scream.
At first, I think maybe it is part of the TV, some late-night thriller on a channel I had accidentally flipped to. But then it comes again. Louder. Sharper. It's certainly not coming from the TV speakers.
My thumb freezes on the remote.
Another scream. This one cracks in the middle, like the man's voice is giving out. My chest tightens. Okay...that is not normal. I feel my stomach knotting, and a cold pulse of adrenaline slides down my spine. Whoever it is...he sounds like he is in real trouble.
I put the remote down, stood up, and looked around. The hall is dim, lit only by a single sconce at the far end. The scream comes again, more painful this time. My every step feels heavier and slower as I start following the screams.
The more I follow, the deeper the sound shifts; less echo now, more contained. Like the man is trapped somewhere.
"God," I whisper under my breath, hugging my arms around myself.
The screams are pulling me through an unfamiliar hallway, past a set of heavy double doors I have never been to. I look back once just to make sure no one is watching and then push on.
The air changes here. Cooler. Staler.
I find a narrow staircase leading down. Each step creaks faintly under my weight. The screaming is closer now. My heart is pounding, but I keep going. Some stupid part of my thought says maybe I can help; maybe someone has been hurt and no one is awake.
At the bottom of the stairs, I push open a heavy metal door. The hinges groan, and I freeze. The basement is drowning in hollow darkness, except for a few overhead harsh lights casting spooky shadows.
The walls are bare concrete, and a scent of sweat, something metallic, and blood hits my nostrils. And there he is.
Lucien. His shirt sleeves roll up, forearms flexing as he stands over a man shackled to a metal chair. The guy is a mess, face swollen, lip split, head hanging forward like it weighs a hundred pounds. His wrists are raw where the cuffs bit into them.
Lucien has something in his hand, a length of rubber tubing streaked with red. He flicks it once, absently, as if testing its weight. Another scream tears from a man's throat when Lucien grabs his hair, forcing his head up.
"You dare to lie to me again?" Lucien's voice is cold.
The man just whimpers, his eyes glassy. Lucien's breath catches, her fingers curling tight into the doorframe. This isn't Lucien; I saw him with me last time. This is someone else entirely different. His face is unreadable; his movements are deliberate and calculated.
This is the same Lucien who entered my room the night I was bought by a ruthless mafia king. He is right now the kinda of man nobody wants to cross. My mind screams at me to leave, to back away before he notices my presence. But my body wouldn't move.
Lucien straightens slowly, tossing the tubing onto a nearby table with a clatter. The table itself is lined with...things. A pair of pliers. A hammer. A blowtorch. "Tell me what I want to hear from you," he says in a casual tone now.
The man's response is unclear and wet with blood. I feel a lump in my throat. I can't breathe. I don't know whether it is fear or shock or something far more dangerous keeping me rooted here, but I can't tear my eyes away.
The man's scream tears through the air like someone has ripped a sheet in half, sharp and ugly. A strangled scream escapes my lips before I even know it is coming.
My stomach flips. Lucien turns, and his eyes immediately find mine, dark and unreadable, but there is no hurry in his movements. No panic. No shame.
A—silence. His blood starts dripping on the concrete floor.
My breath snags in my throat. I am standing still, my toes curling against the soft pads of my slippers. Lucien is there.
Lucien's one hand is still gripping a knife slick with blood. The other man, if you can still call him that, is slumped forward in shackles, head hanging, chest no longer moving.
For a brief moment, I think I might have stumbled into a scene from a twisted mafia movie set. Except the smell... God, the smell is real. Metallic, sour, and heavy.
"Anaya." His voice is steady and calm. Like he is trying to reel me in with just my name.
I stumble backward, every nerve in my body firing. The basement feels smaller now, like the walls are inching closer.
"What...what did you..." My voice falters halfway through.
Lucien takes a step toward me, slow and deliberate, still holding the knife like it is nothing more than a kitchen tool. My vision tunnels. Panic surges so fast it is like my blood has turned to ice water. My knees buckle, and the floor comes up at me. Everything goes black.
I open my eyes. I am in my bed. My mouth is dry, and my head throbs like I have been hit. For a second I wonder if I have dreamed it. The door clicks open.
Lucien steps inside, minus the knife, minus the blood, looking like he has just stepped out of a shower. His hair is damp, his shirt fresh, and his face unreadable.
"Water." Lucien set a glass on my nightstand.
I push myself up; my spine is pressing into the headboard. "What the hell did I witness?"
He walks closer, stopping just short of the bed. "You witness something you weren't supposed to. But you also witness something you needed to."
My throat works as I try to swallow. "That man—"
"Wasn't worth saving." His tone sharpens. "Cartel. Human trafficking. Girls younger than you. He bought them. Sold them. Broke them."
My chest rises and falls faster. Lucien's eyes stay locked on mine. "If I hadn't killed him, he'd still be doing it. Maybe here. Maybe somewhere else."
I can't answer. Lucien adds. "You think this place runs on rules, you know? It doesn't. My world is yours now. And here justice doesn't come in a courtroom."
My stomach churns again. "Go back to sleep, Anaya." He straightens. "Forget it."
As he turns around, I blurt out my feelings. "I don't think I can."
Lucien turns around and smirks. "Then you are learning."