Ripper (Hunter #1)(125)

“It’s no use,” a weary voice said.

McCallister squinted into the darkness. Three men were chained to the far wall in similar fashion. One man with golden eyes that burned like candles stared back at him. The room was too dim for any other impression but fear again shuddered through him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Don’t know.”

A sudden cacophony of noise, voices and movement assaulted McCallister. He groaned against the painful intensity. Just when he thought he would die from the sheer volume, it disappeared.

He fell back to the wall and sucked down a deep rasp of air, shaking and shivering like a newborn colt.

“Where are we?” he croaked.

“In that whore Desdemona's basement,” the golden eyed man spat.

“Who are you?” He didn't know why he asked except talking seemed to help keep his burgeoning fear at bay.

“Leopold Caine. You?”

“Logan McCallister.” He squinted into the shadows at the other two men. “Them?”

“James Robinson and Edward Fontaine.”

Each man made small noises that could have been grunts of hello or pain, he couldn't tell which. Exhausted by the conversation, McCallister slumped back to the wall. “Now what?” he whispered.

The golden eyes flashed harshly in the dim light. “Now we wait.”

The creak of wood and rusty iron sounded in the shadows. McCallister managed to turn his head enough to see a door open.

A familiar voluptuous figure was outlined in the doorway.

“Good. You’re finally awake.”