Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(69)

“Wow. That does sound messed up.”

“It happened three times before I decided I need to keep a key in the basement,” she said. “So, if you’re ever down there, looking at my empty plant hook, and you’re locked in, just reach up on top of the ledge above the door.”

“It’s not a plant hook,” I said, laughing. “It’s too dark down there for plants.”

She shut the basement door. “I’m afraid what locks me down there are ghosts, and they’re going to steal the key.”

I was still laughing. “There are no such things as ghosts. Come on.”

I got up on my tip toes. I slid my hand over the ledge at the top of the door.

At first, I felt nothing but dust and cobwebs.

I kept running my fingers over it.

And there it was. The key!

“Thank you, Naomi,” I said. “If you’re a ghost somewhere, thank you. Thank you so much.”

I clutched it, smiling hugely. Ha. It might not be dangerous to bring us to Naomi’s house, but it was incredibly stupid. I’d finally got one on up on Marcel. We were going to get out of here, and he was going to pay.

I fitted the key into the lock.

And then I stopped. What was I planning here? Was I going to rush out there in my blanket, find Griffin, and then rescue him from Marcel and all of his men? There were at least four other guys here. I didn’t even have a weapon. No, it didn’t make sense to rush into this.

I needed to be smart. I’d wait until later. When it was night. At least some of them would have to be sleeping then. That would give me a better chance of getting us out. I couldn’t chance mistakes. Neither of us could bear to be here for too much longer. Everything was too horrible.

*

Sometime in the early evening, they kicked open the door, and Griffin tumbled down the steps.

He landed at the bottom. I heard his flesh thud against the concrete, but he didn’t make a sound.

I went to him. When I touched him, I realized he was dark. His skin was pasty and cool.

Wait. Was he dark or dead?

I checked his neck. It hadn’t been hurt.

Everything else had, though. He was covered in cuts and bruises. They hadn’t bothered to send the blanket down with him. He was completely naked. His skin had been carved into, the same symbol that was tattooed onto this chest—over and over. All over his torso, his legs, his arms, his face.

He had two black eyes. His lips were busted open and swollen.

He was smeared with crusty, dried blood. I wondered how many times they’d cut him open. How many times he’d healed before they did it again.

I backed away from him, trembling.

I’d known it was going to be bad. But this... Seeing him so ruined and used. It was...

I couldn’t breathe, I was so angry.

This was Griffin. My Griffin. I never wanted him to hurt. I wanted to do anything I could to keep him safe. And these bastards had hurt him so badly that I hardly recognized him.

I clenched my hands into fists. Part of me wanted to tear up the stairs, howling in rage. I felt so much hatred at that moment, I was sure I had the strength to rip them all apart with my bare hands.

But then Griffin twitched.

He was healing.

I wrapped him in my blanket, and I was able to scoot him across the floor that way. He was far too heavy for me to carry myself.

I perched over him, watching as he slowly knit himself back together. He healed before my eyes. Within fifteen minutes, you’d never know how badly he’d been hurt. Of course he was still covered in old blood, but there was nothing I could do about that, short of hosing him down, and I wasn’t going to expose him to that.

Finally, his eyes opened.

At first, I don’t think he could focus on me.

But then his eyes locked on mine. “Doll.”

“Griffin, I remembered where Naomi kept the key to the basement,” I said. I held it up. “See? I have it. We’re going to get out of here.”

He looked at the key, but he didn’t seem to understand what I’d said. At least, he didn’t react to my words.

I plowed on. “We have to wait until later. When they’re all asleep, we’re going to sneak out. Okay? So, you have to be ready. I know you must be...” What? Was there some kind of word I could use to describe how he was feeling now? I didn’t think there was a word.

His gaze fluttered over me. He was lying on the blanket, so I was naked, hugging my knees to my chest, holding out the key. “Won’t let him hurt you.”

Oh, God. Was he even in there?

“Griffin? Do you hear what I’m saying?”

He stared up at the ceiling. “I hear you.”

“Do you understand?”

“You should go,” he said. “Then you’ll be away from Marcel, and he can’t threaten you anymore.”

He did understand. But why would he...? “We’re both going. Together.”

“No, I can’t leave,” said Griffin. His voice was distant. “He owns me.”

Fuck. What did Marcel do to him? He’d been gone for hours, yeah, but it had only been a day. How could Marcel have broken Griffin down so quickly? What could he have possibly done? I rubbed my face in distress. “He doesn’t. That’s not true. No one owns you, Griffin.”

He looked at me dully. “But he does. He knows how I think. He knows what I hate the most. He makes me...” He rolled off the blanket. “I’m going to be sick.”