Third Debt (Indebted #4)(5)

Electric lights flickered like candles as Cut unlocked the rusty mechanism and guided me onward. The screech of the hinges sounded like a skeleton dragging its bony fingers down the claustrophobic walls.

Just like the natural springs where I’d revived Nila, this warren system of circular tunnels and crudely hacked pathways was found by accident while renovating Hawksridge.

Why did previous generations toil so hard in pitch dark and dripping ice?

To build a crypt.

Weavers were buried on the chase, exposed to whipping winds and snow; my ancestors were entombed below the feet of the living, howling their laments and haunting the hallways of their old home.

It was morbid. Depressing. And I despised it down here. The stench of rotting corpses and tentacles of ghosts lurked around shadowy corners.

“Where are we—”

“Silence,” Cut hissed. His voice echoed around the cylindrical chambers.

My sluggish beat turned frantic as Cut continued onward, leaving the crypt behind and stepping foot into the one place I’d avoided all my life.

The memory came thick and fast.

“Wait up!”

Kes charged ahead, hurtling down the cellar steps and disappearing into the dark underground pathways beneath the house. These tunnels went to all areas of the estate—to the stables, Black Diamond garage, even the old silos where grain was stored back in the day.

It was also dark, damp, and rat infested.

We had no torches, no jumpers. Being a hot summer’s day, we’d been searching for spots of shades, only to end up getting bored and playing tag.

“Come on, scaredy cat,” Kes taunted.

I couldn’t see him in the inky blackness, but I kept running with my hands outstretched just in case I ran into something.

I came to an intersection and narrowly missed ploughing headfirst into dirt. Fumbling along the wall, my heart flew into my mouth. The wall surrounded me…three sides, soaring higher and tighter as claustrophobia kicked in.

The clank of heavy metal suddenly rang deep and piercing behind me.

“Kes?”

“We’ll play dungeons and guards. You’re the prisoner.” Kes laughed as he rattled the bars he’d just slammed over the entranceway I’d stupidly entered.

It was so black.

I couldn’t see a thing. But I could hear everything. My breathing. My heartbeat. My terror. So, so loud.

“What do you have to say for yourself, prisoner? Do you plead guilty?” Kes asked, his eight-year-old voice deepening with fake authority.

I moved toward his location, arms outstretched until I found the cold iron bars. “Let me out, Angus.”

“Don’t use that name.”

“I’ll use whatever name I want unless you get me out of here.” My body itched for fresh air, light, freedom. It felt as if the walls were crumbling, folding in, and burying me alive. “Not funny. Let me out.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez.” He yanked on the bars. The awful clanging noise jangled around us.

I pressed from my side of the cell.

Nothing happened.

“Err, it’s locked.”

“What do you mean it’s locked?” My soul scratched at my bones needing freedom. “Find a key—get me out!”

“Stay here. I’ll go get help.”

Kes’s body heat and the sound of his breathing suddenly disappeared, leaving me all alone in the pitch black, locked in a prison cell where men had been tortured and died.

I shuddered, breaking the memory’s hold.

Since that day, I’d never returned. Kes had dragged our grandfather to free me, and after he’d unlocked the cell, he’d forbidden us from returning to the dungeons past the crypts.

I’d readily obeyed. Never again did I want to step foot in a place still reeking with ancient pain and suffering.

But now my father carted me to the same f*cking place, only this time there was light illuminating the deep scratches on the walls from people burrowing for freedom and messages to loved ones who’d never see them.

It took all my strength to follow him around bends and duck where the ceiling hung too low. Scurries of vermin echoed up ahead, and it took everything I had not to break my father’s neck and run.

Was I weak not wanting to kill my father? Was I a f*cking * or justified for being a loyal son? He’d given me life…wasn’t it fair he could take it away?

My rationality couldn’t temper my panic. My nostrils flared, inhaling damp air.

“Get in, Jethro.” Cut came to a stop, waving at the same cell where Kes had accidently imprisoned me for two hours while our grandfather located the key.

The electric sconces glinted off new bars—not the thick, rusty ones of my childhood. My eyes fell to the lock—that was also modern with a number pad rather than an old-fashioned key.

I stepped backward. “You want me to go in there?”

Cut nodded, waving the gun threateningly. “In.”

“Why?”

“No questions.” He cocked the weapon, sliding a bullet into place.

Swallowing hard, I brushed past him and entered the cell. There was no bed, no facilities, no comfort of any kind. Just earth and mould and puddles.

I turned to face him. Why the hell had he brought me down here? To feed my deceased body to the rats? Or perhaps he meant to starve me to death and not waste a bullet?