Chapter 7 No.7

The basement smelled of rust and damp earth. A single bulb swung from the ceiling, casting long, shifting shadows.

Silas was tied to a wooden chair. His face was a mess of blood. His right hand was taped flat against a heavy wooden table.

Elenora was shoved into the room. She stumbled.

Fitzgerald stood behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. It felt like an embrace. It felt like a trap.

"Betrayal is expensive, Elenora," he murmured against her hair.

He reached out and picked up a heavy industrial hammer from the table. He pressed the handle into her hand.

"No," she whimpered, trying to drop it.

Fitzgerald's hand closed over hers, locking her fingers around the wood.

"You do it," he said. "Or I put a bullet in his brain."

He pulled a gun from his waistband with his free hand. He leveled it at Silas's forehead. He pulled back the hammer of the gun. Click.

Silas sobbed. "Miss... please... my hand... just the hand..."

Elenora couldn't breathe. The room was spinning.

"Choose," Fitzgerald whispered. "A broken hand? Or a dead boy?"

"I can't!" she screamed.

Fitzgerald pressed the barrel of the gun to Silas's skin. "Three... two..."

"I'll do it!"

Elenora squeezed her eyes shut. She raised the hammer. Fitzgerald's hand guided hers, adding his strength to the swing.

She brought it down.

The sound was wet and crunchy. Metal hitting bone.

Silas screamed. It was a high, thin sound that broke into a gargle as he passed out.

Elenora dropped the hammer. She turned to the side and vomited onto the concrete floor.

Fitzgerald didn't even look at the boy. He stared at Elenora. She was broken. She was guilty now. She was his.

He holstered the gun. He scooped her up into his arms. She was limp, shaking uncontrollably.

"See?" he whispered as he carried her up the stairs. "You're a monster too."

He didn't take her to the guest room. He kicked open the double doors of the Master Suite.

He threw her onto the massive bed. The black silk sheets were cool.

Elenora stared at the ceiling. There was a splatter of Silas's blood on the hem of her dress.

Fitzgerald loosened his tie. He pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. His eyes were burning with a mix of adrenaline and lust.

"Now," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's discuss your escape attempt."