His Princess (A Royal Romance)(113)

God, Rose. Are you insane? Get out now.

I could just climb back out but I don’t.I lower my feet to the floor. It’s dark down here, the lights are out, but the windows are uncovered and cut two rays of bright light across the basement, and cast a hazy gloom everywhere else.

I yelp and yank my hand back as a hairy spider skitters along the block wall behind me. I take a deep breath and look around.

It’s…a basement.

I already know the floor plan. All of the electrical and utility junk is by the window I just climbed through. There’s not going to be much else in the basement unless it’s finished, which it is not.

I make my way through the room, slowly. There’s a lot of stuff down here. At the far end is some gym equipment, a bench and barbells and big metal weights all on a rubber pad, and what must be a place for him to grab onto and do pullups. The rest of the room is full of boxes and boxes, and crates, actual crates made of wood.

One of them is as big as a coffin. Curious, I tug at the lid, and it rattles a little but doesn’t move. It must be nailed down.I shouldn’t touch it.

No, there are latches, heavy-duty latches like some kind of footlocker. I smear some dust away with my hand and find something written on the side in Cyrillic.

Uh, what?

I can’t help myself. I flip the latches and raise the lid. Inside is all padded foam, covered by a thin layer of the same material. I push the lid all the way back.

Under the foam blanket is a skinny tube, maybe five feet in length, with one flared end and the other straight. Sitting in little niches are conical objects a bit smaller than a football, with tubular ends that look like they slot into the big tube.

Gingerly I lower the lid back in place and latch it shut. There’s another crate. The lid is nailed down, but I don’t need to open it. On the side, stenciled, it reads, DANGER: HIGH EXPLOSIVES.

“What the f*ck?” I whisper.

I make my way through the boxes, breathing harder now. High explosives? Why high explosives? What does Quentin need with high explosives?

Construction? No, that makes no sense, if he used them for construction he wouldn’t keep them in the basement, and that other thing was some kind of a weapon.

I think it was a grenade launcher.

I should leave. Now. Get out, Rose. This is too weird.

The stairs creak under my foot and I freeze, listening. There’s no sound but the happiness of children outside, faint music, and cheering. I take another few steps up, watching each step as I put my foot on it. They’re bare wood bolted together, like the stairs in my basement. There are two staircases, one at either end. One goes to the kitchen.

This one goes to the garage.

I push the door open lightly and watch for movement, expecting to see him inside waxing his car or something, but the big Impala sits there alone, dominating a full half of the garage.

Creeping out into the garage proper, I take a look around. There are two big, heavy safes, each taller than I am. More like vaults, really. It dawns on me as I touch them that I don’t need to open them to know what’s inside. These are gun safes.

I should leave. I should leave right now. I should not open the garage door and walk up into the kitchen.

I open the door and walk up into the kitchen.

It’s empty. I’m not sure what I’m expecting. What will Quentin do if he catches me in here? I can feel the walls closing in around me.

The kitchen is empty, I mean empty. Bare cupboards, no pots or pans, just a pile of canned food on the counter and a fridge with nothing inside but beer, bottles of bourbon, and what appears to be a half-eaten key lime pie.

As I close the fridge I hear something, a movement upstairs. It must be him. I should go. Really, I should get out right now, the way I came. I take a step toward the staircase and pull back.

Go home, Rose. There’s something going on here and it’s a lot bigger than you.

I creep back down into the garage, stopping to slow my breath. I can feel my heart pounding in my neck. I tug on the basement door, but it doesn’t budge.

Oh God.

It’s stuck or locked. I don’t know, but I need to get out. I head for the garage door. It’ll make a racket but it’s a door, and I can go.

Except, I can’t. The car is locked. I can see the remote inside, but that’s no use to me. There’s a switch on the wall but there’s a clear plastic panel over it, with a padlock. I don’t even know where to begin to look for the key.

What am I even doing here?

It doesn’t matter now. I can kick myself in the butt later. Having no other choice, I slip back into the kitchen, walking lightly, testing my footing so I don’t make a noise or let out a creak. The living room is still empty.

I make my way across. When I glance over my shoulder there’s no one behind me. I’ll just go through the front door, lock it, and pull it shut. No harm, no foul. Mrs. Campbell will probably see me coming out of the house, but to hell with her.

As I touch the doorknob, powerful arms snap closed around me, trapping mine against my sides. A hand closes roughly over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheek and jaw.

Quentin growls in my ear.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Mmmph!”

Gingerly he lets his hand off my mouth and grazes his thumb along my jaw.

“Answer me.”

“I was just… I don’t know. Let me go.”