Page 81 of Beastly Armory
Sliding along the edges of the property lines, we make it to the graveyard at the back of his large estate. In the middle is a Gothic mausoleum with thick stone columns in front of two intricately carved dark wood doors leading to the entrance. Once inside, Alpha motions to a back wall. There, she shuffles her foot on the ground and taps out the lines of a trapdoor in the floor with her toes.
She points with a finger for me to kneel, and as I do, I find a metal ring through the ancient dust and tug on it with my full strength. The cover is extremely heavy. But for Max, adrenaline pumps through me, and I give it another pull to get it lifted. Alpha gets underneath and pushes with her weight until the cover is off, revealing a set of stone steps leading down intonothingness.
Alpha grabs me in a hug. We’ve never touched before, but I quickly realize she is doing this in order to speak closely in my ear and not for any show of affection. “You’re on your own from here. I cannot enter, or that’s a declaration of war on West Side. Head down the hall, which will lead to a conservatory near the entrance of his dungeons. Gemini and Aries are here somewhere on the grounds, but I don’t know where.”
And before I can say a word, she deftly vanishes out of the mausoleum, leaving me standing in utter terror and determination in front of the hatch.
There’s only one way to save my husband, and it’s through the dark hole.
Using dancer’s steps, I lithely slip through the crypts beneath Strauss’s estate. My hand trails along the cold stone walls. No light seeps through, but occasionally, I use my phone’s flashlight to see how much farther I have to go. It seems like miles. I can’t rest, though.
On and on, each stone underfoot causes my brain to become confused. Without the light, I can’t see where I’m going and feel like I may be headed in other directions. The sound of my footsteps is so monotonous, it matches the drumming of my pulse until they are one. A person could go crazy down here.
The air is dead, stale. And maybe I have died. Maybe that bullet took me, and this is my hell. Wandering, searching for my lion for all of eternity with half of my heart lying somewhere outside of its rightful place. Its chambers lying deep in the dungeons of this purgatory. Will it ever be able to beat again?
Finally, the atmosphere changes. It’s less dense. Particles are looser and I can breathe easier. Purple light creeps toward my feet as I approach the tunnel’s end. It’s another set of stairs leading to whatever level of damnation awaits above.
Pressing myself against the curving wall of stone, I slide soundlessly up the steps. Loud echoes of water dripping greet me as I alight. Reaching the top, I peer over the edge of a short rail, finding myself in an underground conservatory of sorts.
Rows and rows of tall, hazy green plants are lined under blacklights. I thought West Side had a grip on the marijuana industry, but Strauss seems to have his own, even growing different strains Cal raises for sale. Instead of focusing on my ire at his thievery, my eyes quickly scan the area to find an exit.
Shuffling to the metal door, I peek out of the glass window. Three halls branch out from a main area outside the door. One to the left leads up another staircase. The one straight appears to dead end with one dark wood door. And the one to the right has several doors, all closed.
Small red lights blink in two corners of the hall. Cameras. Those are a definite problem since I don’t know where I’m going. Sneaking won’t help if Strauss can see my every move.
Frustrated, I turn around and study the room I’m in. It’s dark enough that I’m hopefully unnoticed if there are cameras in here, too. The dripping sound dulls my mindas I try to focus on how to get to Max, where he could be…
A wide ventilation shaft sits high on the wall near the stairs where I entered. If I could get inside, perhaps I could scope out the other rooms without being seen. A wooden work bench stands nearby, and I drag it over to the entrance, the loud scraping sound shattering the atmosphere as it crosses over the uneven stones. As quickly as I can, I leap on top of the table, then unscrew the cover from the hole, the cover easily falling off.
Hoisting up, I’m just able to fit on my belly and squirm down the length, which heads in the direction of the right hallway. As I near a light entering from the next room, screams from a man in agony ring loudly through the shaft, my pulse racing so violently, it makes my vision blur. I’m able to shimmy closer for a better look while holding my breath.
Through the lines of the metal cover, I spot Max’s bare body bound to a stockade. A sharp inhale cuts across my lips when I see the skin of his back peeled opened in several bloody slashes. Vladimir Strauss stands in front of him with a black leather whip in his hand. Obviously used for torture, the walls hold several pieces of bondage equipment, and other devices used to inflict his sadism are set up on a table near the side wall. A man with a red hand tattoo of a bull stands near the tools, flipping a pair of pliers in between his fingers like it’s a Rubik’s cube.
“You can make the call. Get Arianna here for me,” Strauss says in a voice that sounds as if he’s bored.
Max spits on the ground and doesn’t speak, only moans.
Sliding my phone from my pocket, I send a text to Echoes and ask her to get in touch with Max’s hackers. I alert Markus and Jakob as well.
I’m able to scrunch into a ball to position my feet over the ventilation cover. It’s easy then to slide my knife out of my boot and grasp it for my next move.
“We could always just fuck your wife.”
“No!” Max manages to yell, blood flying from his mouth as he does.
Shoving with all my might, the cover flies off, and I explode from the exit of the shaft, dropping to the floor with a thud.
Strauss’s wide eyes take me in with shock, and I bounce to my feet while he’s stunned, then split leap toward him, knife in hand. Max growls like a bear and breaks the wood of the stocks enough that he shakes himself free. His large body stumbles back in a daze, but he grabs a plank before he falls. The man with the hand tattoo spurs into action, grabbing a blade from the table and waltzing toward me.
Max swings with a mighty roar and nails the guy in the back of the head until he slumps forward, eyes rolling into his head. Like a jet stream, blood sprays from the wounds the injury caused, gathering on Max’s face, giving him an even more terrifying appearance. Vlad snatches both of my wrists and holds me at arm’s length while I slash at him by swinging my hand in erraticcircles. Max snatches the blade from the downed man and takes two broad steps toward Strauss.
While my eyes move to my husband, Strauss manages to twist my arm and body into a lock, pressing my own knife to my throat. My legs squirm, but he takes a leg and splits mine, trapping one with his own. If I move, the blade will stab me directly in the artery. My eyes meet the darkness settled within Max’s as he realizes the danger we’re in. He crouches into his fighting stance, as if to pounce at any moment.
Strauss lets out a loud laugh in my ear, his hot breath sending tremors of disgust down my spine.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t move one more inch, Freidenberg. Or else…” Strauss takes my elbow and digs the knife point into the skin of my throat. Despite trying to contain it, a whimper escapes my mouth at the sensation as my pulse pounds against the pressure of the knife’s sharp tip. Max’s shoulders raise to his ears.
“I’m going to enjoy tearing you limb from limb.” Max’s voice is hoarse, but he gets the point across, despite being an idle threat. My man is naked, beaten, and operating only on the last of his adrenaline reserves. His knees shake as much as the wooden board he’s holding in his hands, and from the ashen pallor of his normally olive skin, I know he’s barely holding on. Strauss has him bested with me in his arms. I cannot move. It’s hopeless.