I finish my run after the second lap. The huge Mediterranean-style house is quiet this early in the morning, especially with David away. My palm grazes the mahogany railing of the wrought iron banister as I trek up the grand curved staircase. When I reach to my room, I lock the door behind me, securing myself inside the only haven I have in this lavish prison. I make a beeline to the white maple dresser and drop to my knees, feeling around under furniture for the burner phone Thomas smuggled in for me.
This is my go-to hiding spot not only for the phone but also a TAC Force folding tactical knife that I stumbled across when a guard left his bag open and unattended and a thumb drive I plan to use to take down David’s empire.
I peel back the duct tape and let the cell drop into my hand. While the phone powers up, time feels suspended.Please, no new notifications.It’s a silent chant screaming in my mind. Roger, Thomas, and I have an agreement that we only communicate when there’s trouble. The less contact between us, the safer we are.
When the screen comes into focus, I sit back on my heels. My stomach drops, and I fall farther back. I sweep my legs out from beneath me as one text notification glares up at me. My index finger moves as if on its own, inching toward the phone. I tap the icon, and a new prayer whispers past my lips.
“Dear God, please let him be alive.”
Roger: It’s bad.
My eyes slide closed, and for a moment, my heart slams against my sternum. My eyes spring open. I read Roger’s text twice more. Those two simple words hold a world of substance. Then I’m powering off the phone and sticking it back under the dresser.
I shove to my feet, but my legs give out, and I stumble backward. I reach behind me and grope for something tangible. My fingers graze the yellow-and-white duvet, but I miss the bed by a mile and crash to the floor. I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my whimper.
Oh my God, what has that sonofabitch done?
A hundred horrific scenarios trip over themselves in my mind. None can compare to the reality of David’s cruelty. I console myself knowing that if Wraith were dead, Roger’s text would have been much different. Instead,it’s badmeans he’s hurt but alive.
But how high is the price Wraith paid for my visit to his cell?
Guilt tears me apart as I shoot to my feet. I hiss out a curse that would make an Unholy proud when I glance down at my self. All my life, I’ve relied on pretense, and today can’t be any different. It’ll look suspicious if I rush down to the dungeon fresh from a run. I may not deck myself out, but nor do I go around in sweaty athletic gear. It would raise suspicion if I went tearing into the dungeon looking like this.
Breathe.
I race around my room and grab blindly for clothes. After a quick shower, I don a simple green dress and twist my hair in a bun. All the while, I struggle to slow my frantic heart and stop the terrible images running wild in my head. I need Wraith to be okay. Need him to hold on a little longer. This place can’t be where he…
I will not finish that awful thought.
Gomorrah isn’t where Eric ‘Wraith’ Shaw’s story ends.
Roger’s text drives me forward. My fingers fumble with the bedroom door’s lock, and it takes two tries for me to get it open. As I hurry down the hallway toward the staircase, I hear sounds of activity from below. The house is stirring to life, and I pause at the top landing to slap on a mask of serenity. It’s the face I show the world—my fakest face. I’ve reserved my real face for one person, and he’s in a dungeon because of me.
I’m not stupid. I know exactly how David found out about Wraith. Why he went to such lengths to bring him here, and why my husband is so damn jealous. One day I’m going to have to ask for Wraith’s forgiveness. I doubt, after everything he’s suffered, he’ll give it. But I’ll ask it because I’m selfish—and then I’ll leave Mayhem so he can live his life and put this place, and me, behind him.
I retrace my steps back through the house, my limbs numb and my stomach in a knot. My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it’s going to break right through my chest. The aroma of brewing coffee and bacon waft from the kitchen, raising bile in my throat. I keep my pace casual, slow, as I walk by staff, who greet me with murmured good mornings as they rush to finish the first wave of chores.
And then I’m out the front door, slapped by a blanket of humidity. I stroll across the courtyard as if I don’t have a care in the world. Guards give me a passing glance before going back to their usual business. Patrolmen march by, leashed attack dogs at their heels. Cameras, like one-eyed gargoyles, glare down at me as I near the Coliseum. I suppress a chill that works up my spine. The grim building is a source of entertainment for most, and a tomb for those of us who know the truth.
The first obstacle I encounter is the brawny guard standing sentry at the Coliseum’s ominous entrance. He’s dressed head to foot in black tactical gear, with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. The weapon doesn’t bother me. The nasty sneer he gives me as I approach does. He won’t shoot me, but he can prevent me from entering the dungeon, and right now, that’s more dangerous than the bullets in his rifle.
I keep my expression neutral as I approach. “Good morning, Nate.”
I take Sun Tzu’s words to heart.If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.
I know myself, and I damn well know my enemy.
Nate, with his stoic expression and impeccable military buzz cut, doesn’t reciprocate the friendly greeting. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Crane?”
For starters, you can fuck all the way off.
I look Nate right in the eye. “Standard visit.”
He gives me a once-over from behind mirrored sunglasses. I don’t need to see his expression to know he finds me lacking. Everyone here does. Being pitied, considered an object of morbid fascination, and dismissed as trash my entire life gave me thick skin. Nate can glare down his condescending nose at me all he wants. Doesn’t bother me. All I care about is him moving aside so I can get to Wraith.
He sticks out his hand. “Your cell phone stays with me.”
“I know the rules, Nate.” Certain guards can bring their phones in the dungeon in case of an emergency. Visitors can’t—and that includes me. “I left mine at the house.”
