Out of Love(51)

With lazy defeat settling into my bones, I climbed to my feet, finished cleaning the table, and moved the table and chairs to roll up the rug. A foot into rolling it up, I froze. A chill worked its way up my spine. There it was.

The access to Professor Dickerson’s creepy dungeon. So much for the rumors that they filled it in when the house was restored. Ever so slowly, I continued rolling up the rug. With Slade, the house never felt haunted. Without him … I swear I heard every tiny creak and crack. I smelled smoke from the original fire. And the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

The details of the kidnapping, the fire, the college girl being burned alive … it all came to life in my head. The bigger question that haunted me was … did Slade have anything stored in the dungeon? Surely not. At least that was my hope.

Potatoes. Dungeons were like cellars, right? Apples, potatoes, lots of fruits and veggies that liked it cool. Wine. It would have been the perfect wine cellar. If only I could have remembered Slade ever drinking a glass of wine.

Nothing.

That was what I was really hoping to find. It took me a good half hour of just staring at the wood plank trapdoor to get the nerve to lift it open. Had my girlfriends been home, I would have told them to come over and open it with me.

They weren’t home.

So I had to brave it on my own. It didn’t lift easily. The weight of it strained my shoulders as I used my whole body to pull it open. A musty smell wafted out of the black hole along with yet another drop in temperature. I couldn’t see anything, so I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight, pointing it into the hole. The only thing that came into view was a ladder to climb into the dungeon and the dirty concrete floor below.

I blew out a long breath as my hand holding my phone shook a bit.

“I can’t go down there,” I whispered to myself and the ghosts watching over me. “But I have to.” In nothing but his UCLA tee, I descended the ladder with my phone clenched in my mouth, the light pointed downward. My focus was on my feet, making sure I didn’t miss one of the rungs and fall. Once I reached the floor, I grabbed my phone and aimed the light at the wall.

“Oh … my … god …”

Fear came in waves. The first wave took my breath away. The second wave hit my heart, jolting it into a frantic rhythm. The third wave paralyzed me. I just … stood there, trying to make sense of the display before me. Forcing myself to move, I turned in a slow circle, taking the light with me, trembling to the point I thought my teeth might start chattering. Every square foot of the wall was covered in hooks and shelves of weapons. An arsenal like I’d only seen in the movies.

Knives.

Guns.

Grenades.

Some missile-looking things that I couldn’t imagine were legal for anyone to own except the military.

I no longer thought the rumors were wrong. They were understated. Slade Wylder wasn’t just a drug dealer; he was bigger. Mafia? I didn’t know. What I did know … Slade wasn’t a good person. He was dangerous. And I needed to tell someone. Call the police.

My breaths shortened into the beginning of hyperventilation. I couldn’t get a full breath which made me want it—try for it—that much harder. Backing into the metal rung ladder, I tore my gaze away from the weapons and forced my shaky limbs to climb the ladder, my right hand trying to hold the rung and my phone. Just as I reached the top, my phone fell onto the ground below.

The staccato of my breathing intensified at the thought of climbing back down to get it. As I moved my right foot to start my decent again, the warmth of a firm hand around my wrist sent shock waves through my body. On a painful gasp, I jerked my chin up to the menacing face I thought I loved.

I was such a stupid woman.

“Livy …” Slade pulled my arm to bring me out of the dungeon.

“NO!” I tried to jerk away. There was no escape, but just feet below me was a slew of weapons and ammunition. I could …

Could what? My thoughts were flawed. I had no fucking clue how to load or use a gun. Maybe a knife. Jessica had taught me how to hold a knife and where to cut someone to make them bleed the most.

“Livy …” he repeated with more grit to his voice.

I let go of the ladder and wriggled to get out of his grip, even if it meant falling to the ground below. My struggle paled in comparison to his strength. He plucked me from the hole. I maneuvered out of his grip, falling back onto the kitchen floor, crab crawling backward toward the living room and Jericho, as Slade kicked the trapdoor shut.

“My phone,” I whispered like he’d knocked the air out of my lungs.

“Whatcha doing down there?” He cocked his head, brow more tense than usual as he took calculated steps toward me.

“I … I didn’t want to believe it.” I eased to my feet so slowly—the prey all too aware of her predator.

He wet his lips and rubbed them together. “Believe what?”

“The rumors. The drugs.” I shook my head. “I just didn’t think you could—”

“Deal drugs?” He chuckled, scratching his stubble from his chin to his neck. “Any dumb fuck could deal drugs. I’m not dealing, Liv.”

Not a drug dealer.

The weight of the only other logical explanation settled in my stomach like a grenade with the pin pulled. Weapons … he was a weapons dealer.

“You know … I liked us. Not that I have much to compare to. But us … I liked us. You’re not needy and clingy anymore. You’re smart. Jericho likes you. You’re a badass on a surfboard. And don’t even get me started on the sex. Sadly, you’re a little too curious for your own good.”