But as the minutes tick by, a new emotion swirls into the already too potent cocktail in my bloodstream. Dread.
Something is wrong, and I feel more and more useless chattering into a radio and getting no response, while Enzo is possibly in danger.
“Maybe we should—” I’m cut off as a loud bang disturbs the otherwise silence. I gasp, dropping the radio speaker and staring down at the stairs with wide eyes. Moments later, a second shot goes off, racketing my heart farther up my throat.
Was that Enzo or Sylvester? There’s no telling who’s persevering.
“Okay, now we need to go check,” I say, my voice uneven and tight.
Kacey slowly turns to me. The energy has shifted, and I’m no longer confident she’s on our side.
My lips feel bone dry, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as she steps toward me.
“Don’t do that,” I warn her, and she pauses. “I have no intention of hurting you, but I will if you fuck with me.”
She cocks her head, and for all I know, she might not even know what that means. There’s no doubt she’s been extremely sheltered. But rather than confusion, the act almost seems… condescending, like placating a child that is whining because they can’t eat cookies before dinner.
Bitch.
She takes another step toward me, and I straighten my spine.
Fuck her for trying to intimidate me. I’ve fought my entire life just to survive. I’m not going to stop now.
She seems to still, and before I can figure out what her intentions actually are, there's a loud boom, followed by a muffled shout that sounds like Kacey.
Her head snaps to the staircase, and then after a few moments, she slowly faces me again. My heart is in my throat, pounding viciously, and my brain can't decide where to focus its attention—on the commotion coming from below and the danger Enzo is likely in, or the girl with a rotted mouth rushing toward me.
I have just enough time to duck out of her way, sending her crashing into the control panel, and race toward the steps.
Fuck this.
I'm not staying up here fighting with a half-dead girl that's clearly not as docile as she seemed to be.
I'm plunged into darkness within seconds of practically tripping down the stairs. I can’t hear the chains on her feet chasing after me, but my terror has convinced me of it anyway, and I'm not stopping to verify.
As I get closer to the bottom, my heart rate grows faster. There isn’t any noise from beyond the doorway anymore. And I find that far more unsettling than if there were a loud ruckus. At least then, I know Enzo is still alive.
Without hesitation, the moment my foot reaches the bottom, I’m barreling through the door and into the living room.
Sylvester is sitting on the couch with a shotgun in his lap, wooden leg propped up on the coffee table.
I skid to a stop, terror nearly sending me into an early grave. Immediately, I’m whipping my head toward the kitchen, frantically searching the area for Enzo.
He’s not here. Where the fuck did he go?
“Lookin’ for somethin’？” Sylvester drawls lazily.
Heart in my throat, I train my gaze on Sylvester, chest pumping as I try to figure out what the fuck happened in the two minutes we were apart.
“What did you do?” I choke out.
Sylvester’s hand rises to his beard and strokes it with mocking contemplation.
“What do you mean?” he questions. “I am simply sitting on my couch, in my home, and drinking a nice cold beer.”
Said beer is sitting on the end table, though the cap is firmly on.
“Where is Enzo?” I push, ignoring his condescension.
Sylvester sighs, as if this whole situation is a huge miscommunication and an inconvenience. As if he didn't attempt to keep me locked away here and grew angry and unhinged when I said no.
As if he didn't lie to us from the very beginning and purposely kept us trapped here.
“I’ve already contacted someone,” I warn. “They know we're here and are being held hostage.”
Far from the truth, but it's better than him believing we're completely vulnerable.
Sylvester drops his wooden leg from the coffee table, the thump loud and causing me to flinch. With a grunt, he stands, and instinctively, I take a step back.
A soft breeze of air whispers across the nape of my neck, causing the hairs to stand on end like a petrified cat.
I freeze, and Sylvester grins, a devilish glint in his eyes. He lifts his hand and points behind me.
“She's excited to keep you.”
My muscles are stiff with horror, and I refuse to unlock them and turn around.