Page 92 of Savage Desires

I swallow thickly and nod.

"So when do we get to play with Gunner's Russian pets?" Hera asks around a mouthful of watermelon.

"Right now," Kisten growls.

"We're about twenty minutes out," Gunner says, then cuts the call.

Hera hops down from the table and leads the way to the exit. Cutter and Shawn follow. I'm pretty sure Gunner told Cutter to keep me safe no matter what because he's not taken his eyes off me since we entered the basement at Mecca. I know Kisten and Shawn came to some manly agreement that I need to be protected, and since Shawn is the best in his group, he decided he's the only one qualified to play bodyguard.

I'd maybe be offended if I didn't like the big oafs so much. I know they respect my ability to handle myself, so it's more sweet than offensive. Now, if they acted like I'm an incapable, fragile little flower? I would have to shoot them somewhere non-lethal to make sure they learned the error of their ways.

Hera approaches a matte black motorcycle that looks like sex on wheels. It's so perfectly Hera. She puts on an all-black helmet that covers her whole face, making her look completely anonymous, and revs the engine. She wiggles her fingers at me before gunning it out of the parking area and down the street. By the time we're pulling onto the street, her taillight is out of sight. Wonder if Kisten will let me have one of those? I'll have to ask.

I'm lost in my thoughts of those young girls who were ripped from their homes and could've lived the same life I did if we hadn't saved them. I decide then and there that I want to continue saving girls from living the same fate as me. I'm not sure how Kisten will react to that. Pretty sure he only agreed to let me do this today because I have a personal vendetta against these fuckers. I'll just have to convince him. If he won't listen, I bet Hera would help me. She likes to defy authority.

We pull into a neighborhood that looks like the world's forgotten about it. Every house is rundown, most yards are overrun, driveways are cracked with vehicles that are obviously broken down, and there's trash on the street. The random kids' toys among the garbage and unkept lawns make my heart hurt. Knowing children are living in squalor like this makes me sad.

It makes me wonder what happened for the people in this neighborhood end up here. Circumstances or bad choices? How many are good people struggling to make ends meet, and this is the best they can do? It's sad to think that there are likely hard-working people mixed in with druggies and dealers living in a dangerous neighborhood because it's all they can afford.

I close my eyes and sigh. Kisten puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes lightly. I slide my hand under his and lace our fingers together. I don't open my eyes again until we stop in front of a house that looks moments away from falling down. There's already a black SUV backed into the driveway that matches ours, and Hera's motorcycle is parked haphazardly in the barren yard.

Kisten shuts off the engine. "Wait for me to get you," he says before opening his door.

He doesn't open my door until Cutter and Shawn stand beside him. Their heads are on a swivel, constantly checking our surroundings. It puts me on edge. Obviously, this is a dangerous neighborhood, but that wouldn't make them this level of cautious. They're looking for signs of an ambush.

They quickly guide me into the rundown house, which is somehow even shittier on the inside than the outside. It smells like rotten wood, a lifetime of cigarette smoke, and the distinct metallic scent of blood.

"Stay up here with Cutter and Shawn," Kisten says.

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. "No. I'm in this until the end. I won't be left behind."

His jaw ticks with frustration. "Do you know what's about to happen?"

I bark a laugh. "Yep, we're going to go down those stairs into the horror movie-quality basement and nicely ask three Russian assholes about their little side hustle."

Cutter barely manages to cover his laughter with a cough. I smirk at him because I appreciate that he recognizes how silly it is to make me wait up here like a good little girl when, just less than two hours ago, I killed seven men without flinching. I understand that Kisten wants to protect me, but I don't need protection from this. I asked for this. I want to see these fuckers suffer. So, no, I won't be sitting this out.

Kisten must see how resolute I am because a resigned look enters his eyes. "Fine, but if it gets to be too much, I'll have Cutter and Shawn drag you out of there."

"Deal. Now, let's go ask our questions before Hera accidentally kills them all," I say.

Hera laughs from behind me, making me jump. "I never kill on accident. If I make you dead, it was intentional."

"I'm going to put a fucking bell on you like a cat if you keep sneaking up on me," I bark.

"Kinky."

Hera leads the way to the basement. It's way worse than you would see in a horror movie. The three men are hanging from the ceiling by their arms. They've been stripped down to just their underwear and appear unconscious. The floor under the men is stained with old blood… in fact, there are blood stains everywhere. The only things down here are an ancient water heater, a furnace that looks like a fire hazard, and a table. I step closer to the table and see there are dozens of tools that have obviously been used for previous conversations.

I should probably be disgusted by what I see, but I'm not. I've seen and been through too much to be squeamish about this. I've been tied up in rooms with similar tools, only they were pristine, and the men wielding them were using them for sexual gratification. This is much more palatable.

Hera circles the men singing the eenie meenie miney mo song. She stops in front of the man on the left in white tighty whities. "This one is mine."

"Don't kill him too fast. We need information," Kisten says, reminding her of our purpose. He flips a light switch, and the basement is thrown into darkness except for the table of weapons and the men chained to the ceiling. We can see them, but they won't be able to see us. It's like the curtain has been drawn on a real-life macabre theater performance.

"Slow is more fun anyways," she says, then grabs both the man's nipples and gives him a purple nurple so hard I half expect her to pull his nipples off with her bare hands. The man comes to screaming. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

It takes him a moment to figure out where he is and that he's chained to the ceiling in the death basement. "What the fuck?!" he yells. "Why am I here?"