Page 3 of Fire in My Blood

A cute puppy had been delivered to the animal shelter this morning before I arrived, and I can’t stop toying with the idea of adopting it. It would be amazing to have a loving dog to come home to every night, and I would feel safer with a guard dog. Even venturing outside after dark might be possible if I was accompanied by a dog.

There’s a smile on my face as I complete my regular tasks upstairs. It isn’t until I exit the elevator in the basement and head down the corridor toward the interrogation room that I remember yesterday’s curious incident and frown.

I come to a stop outside the room where I found the bowl of soup. Is it still there, or has someone retrieved it and taken it to the cantina? Perhaps I should check just in case. But what can I do even if it’s there? It’s not like I can tell anyone about it.

I continue to the interrogation room and try to focus on my job and forget about the soup, but I can’t get it out of my head. And when I stand in front of the elevator to leave the basement after I’m done cleaning the floor, I can’t make myself push the button to open the door.

Before I can change my mind, I leave the cleaning cart by the elevator and go back to the door that hides the answer to my question. I swipe my keycard and hear the familiar click. The thick steel door opens without a sound.

On the floor of the room, a little farther away from the door this time, there’s a tray with a bowl of soup. Like yesterdaythere’s no spoon. But the soup looks fresh, like it was just left there a minute ago.

Without hesitation I reach around to the wall on the right and click on the light. All the light switches in the building are inside the door to the right, and this one is no exception.

I step over the threshold while I scan the room from right to left. There are a table and two chairs by the wall to the right, and a large map is hanging on the wall straight ahead. But when my eyes land on the wall to my left, I freeze.

A man is sitting on a thin mattress on the floor with his back against the wall. His head is tipped forward like he’s sleeping, and his forearms are resting on his bent knees. As I watch, he slowly lifts his head until he’s staring straight at me.

I can’t breathe. He’s hands down the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Thick dark-brown hair is falling past his massive shoulders. He’s wearing only a pair of blue jeans, so his wide beautifully sculpted chest and ripped abs are on display. And his stubble gives him a roguish look that does nothing to diminish his appearance.

My brows crease when I notice the solid manacles on his wrists and the thick chains attached to them. The chains are connected to some kind of pulley system bolted to the concrete wall directly above the man’s head. From there they are running along the ceiling to the wall on my right.

The system is clearly designed so the chains can be adjusted without having to move within reach of the prisoner. At present, there’s barely any slack at all. It’s probably enough for him to lie down on the mattress close to the wall, but his reach must be less than four feet from the wall behind him.

My gaze moves back to his. His eyes hold no emotion, and he doesn’t make any attempt to speak to me. He’s obviously a prisoner here, and a ton of questions roll through my head as Istare into his eyes. How long has he been here? Why is he here? And most importantly, who is he?

A sudden realization makes me scan the walls and ceiling for surveillance cameras, but there are none that I can see.

My frown deepens. That’s odd. Shouldn’t there be at least one camera in here so they can keep an eye on him? Especially since there is no one in the building at night. How will they know if something happens to him? Or don’t they care?

He was obviously here when I opened the door last night. And the clinking sound I thought I heard while cleaning the floor in the corridor must have been his chains rustling.

My eyes go back to the bowl of soup on the floor. It’s placed way out of his reach. Is that by accident or on purpose? It must be the first option. Anything else would just be cruel.

“Do you want the soup?” My voice is as loud as a pistol shot in my ears, and I cringe and glance out the door with apprehension. What if someone finds me in here with the prisoner? I’ll be out of here faster than I can saysorry, wrong room, and I’ll probably be charged with something as well.

I force air into my lungs and push my shoulders down from my ears. There’s no one in the building, and there’s no surveillance in this room, so as long as I don’t tell anyone what I’ve done, I’ll be fine. At least that’s what I’m counting on.

I look back at the man and feel my knees weaken with pure awe. An amused grin is spread across his face, and it hits me right in the chest, like he’s physically pushed me. This man is too gorgeous for his own good, or at least for mine. Those blue eyes, high cheekbones, and chiseled jaw remind me of a drawing of a Viking I once saw, except this man is more attractive.

“So, this is their new game, is it? Using a beautiful woman to tease me. Well, it’s going to take a lot more than that to get me to talk.” His voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t used it for along time. It resonates in my bones, causing a shiver to run down my spine.

Then his words register, and my eyes widen. What is he talking about? Does he think I’m here on purpose to extract information from him? Something twists in my stomach when I realize someone is purposefully making him suffer to make him talk. That’s illegal, isn’t it?

The disturbing insight snaps me out of the illusion that I’m safe from discovery, and I quickly turn, click off the light, and slam the door behind me.

My heart is racing like I’ve just run flat out for miles. I feel bad for leaving him there in the dark, but what else can I do? All my instincts are telling me to help him, but how and why? There must be a reason why he’s a prisoner. But no matter what he’s done, I can’t get past the cruelty he’s subjected to.

I wait outside the door for several minutes to let my heart settle. There are no sounds from the room. No shouting or chains clinking. And he doesn’t call me back.

I smile and wave to the guard when I drive through the gates on my way out of the compound. It feels forced, but hopefully, I look the way I usually do.

All the way home, my mind revolves around the prisoner in the basement. And the more I think about him, the more confused and angry I get. How can they leave a man in the dark like that? And the bowl of soup—it’s no accident that he can’t reach it. Come to think of it, there was no water within his reach either. No water at all in the room that I saw.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel to stop myself from turning around and going back to him. There will be too many questions if I try to get back into the compound tonight. And if I want to help the man, I have to make sure to act as I normally do. No one can find out what I’m up to, not even my brother.

Chapter 3

Lucas