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 onmycouch, inmyhome, 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.
“I told her you would stay here with her. She's very excited to have a new friend.”
I work to swallow, but it feels no easier than swallowing dry sticks.
“Then why did she lead us to the beacon? Why would she help us find a way out?”
His eyes flit over my shoulder, a flash of pure rage in his eyes before it extinguishes. In that tiny increment of time, I see every bit of insanity residing in that empty tomb where his soul is supposed to be.
“Kacey gets lonely sometimes. Doesn't always like being here. She comes around eventually but acts out every now and then.”
“Is that why you sewed her mouth shut?” I spit, disgusted with what he did to his own daughter. It sickens me to think what else he might've done to her.
I feel a finger slide across my nape, and I bristle, a slimy feeling trickling through my bloodstream. Her touch moves south, and then begins to swirl in a pattern I can’t distinguish. She’s drawing something on my back, but I’ve no idea what. It feels like letters, but I can’t be sure in the midst of my panic. I think I feel her trace L-A-R, but my mind is racing too fast to interpret it.
“We all suffer consequences, my dear,” he says, walking around the table and coming to stand in front of me. I’m trapped between the two, and I’ve no idea how the fuck I’m supposed to find Enzo and get us the fuck out of here.
“Was getting a supply drop-off when she started screaming. I had already cut out her tongue the previous time when she tried to call for help, but that doesn’t stop someone from making noises of distress, even if it’s incoherent. She forced my hand.”
Nausea churns in my stomach, the acidity burning a path up my throat.