Chapter 2

We knelt on the velvet cushions in front of a crucifix.

Sophia's hand wouldn't stop shaking. I gripped it tight and lowered my gaze to the floor.

"My dear wife," Alistair’s voice washed over the empty pews. "I brought our daughter home. The estate is finally whole."

I pressed my lips into a thin line. A jarring inconsistency gnawed at the back of my mind. He didn't ask us a single question about our childhoods. He didn't run a DNA test.

He'd brought two maids into his fortress and declared us family overnight.

It made no sense.

A violent impact shuddered through the floorboards beneath our knees.

It sounded like something—someone?—hitting iron. Bone against metal, maybe.

Sophia’s breath hitched. Her jaw dropped open, a scream building in her throat.

I instantly drove my elbow into her ribs.

She choked on the scream, turning it into a sharp gasp.

"Sir," Sophia's voice trembled slightly. "I... I'm feeling a bit hungry. Could I go get something to eat?"

Alistair turned away from the crucifix.

His eyes dragged over us, searching for a crack in our expressions. Finding only a starving girl clutching her stomach, his gaze softened.

"Poor thing," he murmured. "Go to the dining room. I will stay here and spend a moment alone with her soul."

Sophia practically dragged me to my feet. We walked out of the doors of the chapel. The second we hit the main corridor, Sophia started loudly complaining about stomach cramps to a passing maid.

I released her arm, took a silent step backward, and slipped behind the heavy velvet curtain of a stained-glass alcove.

After she and the maid disappeared down the hall, I waited, holding my breath.

Through the crack in the chapel doors, Alistair was not kneeling in prayer. He walked straight past the crucifix, pressing a hidden latch built into the stone altar. The altar slid silently to the left, revealing a narrow set of stone steps leading down to the rusted iron door.

He pulled the heavy door open and stepped inside.

I crept out from behind the curtain, my socks making zero sound on the stone tiles. I moved down the narrow stairwell until I reached the rusted frame. A thick, sickening wave of cloying floral perfume mixed with raw bleach hit my face through the small ventilation gap.

I crouched in the dark, pressing my ear near the rusted hinges.

"Why are you fighting me?" Alistair's voice drifted up from below. There was no grief in it—no mourning. "Look what you did. You tore your own skin open. You made your wrists bleed again. Does that make you happy?"

My stomach bottomed out.

Someone was alive down there. Locked beneath the altar.

Chain rattling. Flesh slapping against flesh. His heavy panting. Her choked, muffled whimpers.

Bile burned my throat. I pressed my hands over my mouth, my whole body shaking. Oh God. Oh God.

He was keeping a sex slave. Right under the chapel.

'Who's there?' Alistair's voice went deadly quiet.

Then I heard heavy footsteps moving toward the iron door.

My heart stopped. If he found me—if he knew I'd heard—

I'd be next.

I spun around and bolted.

I scrambled up the stairs, slipped out of the chapel, and sprinted down the corridor until my lungs burned.

I burst into the dining room and threw myself into a chair at the table. My hands shook so violently I had to grip the edge of the wood to steady them.

Sophia hovered over me instantly.

"Did you see who it is?" she whispered frantically.

I picked up a piece of warm bread, ripped it in half, and shoved it into her hand. "Eat it."

"Abigail!"

"I saw nothing. It’s empty."

She stared at me, her eyes wide with betrayal. "You are lying. I died because of that room! You know something."

I grabbed her wrist, pulling her face down close to mine. "I am going to break into that room tomorrow when he leaves the estate," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "You are going to cover for me."

Sophia shook her head wildly, trying to pull her hand back.

My grip tightened, my nails digging into her skin.

"Listen to me. Whatever he is hiding down there is the reason he murders us when he’s done. If we don’t find his bottom line, we are going to die much worse than last time. Do you understand?"

Sophia stared into my eyes. She saw the absolute certainty of death reflecting back at her. Her shoulders collapsed, and she gave a microscopic nod.

I let go of her wrist and cut a large piece of medium-rare steak.

I chewed the meat methodically, forcing my chaotic heart rate back down to normal.

I managed to swallow a few more bites. About twenty minutes later, the chair across from me scraped back.

I looked up.

Alistair sat down. He had changed out of his suit into a fresh linen shirt. His hair was slightly damp. He smelled intensely of fine cologne.

He picked up a silver fork, offering us a warm smile.

"How is the food, girls?"