Till Death

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  staff staircase. I tried to grab the frame of the door, but he pulled me through. All it took was seconds. Seconds. That was it, and we were in front of the cellar door.

  The scent of earth and dampness invaded my senses as he forced me into the main cellar. I grabbed at his arm, my nails digging into his shirt as he continued in the darkness and through another door—the wine cellar. The light was on, and I suddenly thought of what James had said about the light being on down here.

  I struggled in his hold. “What are you—?”

  “I didn’t say you could talk.” Reaching around me, he shoved aside a rack of wine. The bottles rattled as the entrance to the unused part of the cellar came into view. “Ever been down here?” he said.

  I didn’t get a chance to respond.

  Jason shoved me into the dark room. I fell forward, blindly throwing out my hands. I went down, my palms smacking off the dirt-packed floor. I couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

  “You haven’t.” He walked around me, confident in where he was stepping. “No one comes into this part. Probably should’ve. Too late now.”

  My breath caught as a light came on suddenly, flooding the space with dull yellow light. I sucked in dusty, dank air and shrank back as my gaze flew over the damp bricks and the floor.

  There was a crumpled body lying in the corner, lying on his side. I recognized the old, worn flannel shirt. “James!” I cried out.

  Jason blocked me, standing between us. “Don’t even think about moving.”

  “Is he . . . is he dead?” The words tumbled out as I stared around Jason’s legs. I didn’t see him move.

  “I don’t know. Took the knock to the head like a champ,” Jason replied without an ounce of compassion. “I like the guy, but he came down here this morning, poking around. My fault. Should’ve turned that damn light off. If he isn’t dead, he’ll be dead soon enough.”

  My God . . .

  Praying that James was okay and that he would somehow survive this, I looked around the room. Rope hung from the old metal hooks embedded deep into the stone. Some of it was frayed. Pieces had rust-colored splotches. Scratches dug deep into sections of the stone, as if an animal . . . or a person had attempted to claw their way out.

  And they had.

  Oh God, someone had been down here, and they’d scratched at the stone in desperation. What appeared to be chips of fingernails were broken off in the marks, and the ground had stains, dark and muddy-looking stains. Stuck to the wall, above the horrifying marks, were items. A floral scarf. A badge. A woman’s blouse—

  “Like what I’ve done with the place?” Jason asked.

  I saw it—saw it all—and it reminded me of another time when the light had finally come on, and I saw the horror around me, the horror I’d been held captive in. This wasn’t just a cellar. This was a tomb.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  Jason had been holding them here, those poor women, killing them in the cellar under the Scarlet Wench.

  Chapter 29

  I almost couldn’t process what I was seeing as I rose to my knees and it had nothing to do with the blows to the head.

  “You have Miranda to thank for me knowing about this part of the cellar,” Jason said, standing in front of me. “And yourself. Do you remember telling me about the tunnels when we were in college?”

  Pressing my lips together, I didn’t answer.

  “You guys were talking about how creepy the cellar was,” he continued. “Not sure if you realize this or not, but those bricks came down in the cemetery ages ago. I took them down before we took you.”

  I jerked.

  “I used to come in here when you were sleeping, walk around the inn. You had no idea. Every once in a while, I visited, even after you left town. I guess it made me feel like I was still close to you.” He knelt, and I lifted my chin. Blood trickled down the side of his face. “I had complete access to this place. Made copies of the keys just in case someone closed up the entrance. Could’ve done anything this whole entire time.”

  My stomach turned. There was a good chance I was going to be sick, knowing that he’d been in this house when my mom was here, alone and completely unaware.

  “I kind of stumbled onto this part of the cellar.” His hand snapped out, curving around the back of my neck. His grip was painful. “Then I remembered Miranda saying once that no one ever used this part. Seemed fitting. How does it feel?” he asked. “Knowing that they were down here this whole time? That they were alive while you were upstairs in the kitchen, eating and drinking? When you were in your apartment fucking and they were down here dying?”

  I sucked in a wheezy breath. “You’re a sick bastard.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He twisted my head back. James was still motionless in the corner. “I’ve heard worse. There’s something I want you to understand. I killed them because of you, because you had to fucking come back and rub it in my goddamn face—” He stopped suddenly, lifting his gaze to the ceiling.

  Footsteps.

  There were footsteps upstairs.

  “Sasha!” Cole’s voice rang out from above, his voice tinged with panic and anger.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but Jason was on me, clapping his hand over my mouth so all that came out was a muffled grunt. He lifted me to my feet, circling an arm around my chest, clamping my arms to my side.

  “Listen,” Jason murmured into my ear. “Listen to him upstairs. He has no fucking clue you’re down here. None. And he won’t. Not until it’s too late. But he’ll know.” He wrenched me back, away from the opening in the cellar. “I’ll make sure he finds out that you died while he stood right above you.”

  My heart slammed against my ribs as I heard Cole speaking. I couldn’t make out the words—it was either to Miranda or he was on the phone.

  “If I can’t pin the blame on him, maybe I’ll kill him?” His breath against my ear sent shivers down my spine. “But I like the idea of him living with the knowledge of losing you twice.”

  I hated him—hated him with every fiber of my being. He was worse than a sociopath. He was a monster.

  Digging my fingers into his hand, I tried to pry him away as he laughed quietly in my ear.

  “Do you know these tunnels branch out? One goes a little further down the street, into another house?” He pressed his head against mine. “I just want you to know before I kill you, that I’ll escape.”

  There was no way I was letting that happen.

  No way.

  An explosive curse sounded from upstairs and then I heard Cole shout my name once more. The rage building inside of me diminished everything else—the terror and pain. I was not going out this way. I was not going to give this bastard another second of my life.

  Lifting my leg, I slammed my foot down on his. He grunted, but held on. Without thinking, I kicked my head back, connecting with his skull.

  Jason yelped out a curse.

  Then I went wild.

  Swinging my arms back, I hit every part of him I could reach, which wasn’t much, but my fists connected with his sides, and his head. I kicked back, digging my foot into his shins.

  I shoved my body backward, knocking him into the wall. The thud was audible, and I wasn’t sure it was enough to be heard, but I had to try. I threw myself backward again, and his head cracked off the wall. His hand slipped from my mouth.

  I screamed—screamed with everything I had in me. “Cole!” My voice echoed throughout the cellar, and I had no idea if he’d heard me. “Co—”

  “You stupid bitch!” Grabbing my hair, he twisted me around and shoved me forward with brutal force. There wasn’t enough time to protect myself from the blow. I hit the brick wall and the burst of fiery pain was blinding. A heartbeat passed and he threw me backward. I hit the floor, sending plumes of dirt into the air. He was on me, his knees pinning my hips as he circled his hands around my neck.

  I’d taken my final breath before I realized it would be my last.

  His finge
rs dug into the skin of my throat painfully. I beat and clawed at his hands, trying to loosen the grip. It didn’t work. Lifting my hips, I couldn’t throw him off. He was like a man possessed. He looked possessed. Blood streamed down his face, his eyes dark and full of hate, face contorted with anger—anger at me for daring to live, to survive.

  But I couldn’t breathe.

  I didn’t want his face to be the last thing I saw, but I refused to close my eyes. I glared back at him even as my lungs burned. Weakness infiltrated my muscles, turning my arms and legs into lead. They became too heavy to lift. My arms slipped to my sides, falling against the floor.

  A wide smile crept across Jason’s face. A full smile, showcasing bloodstained teeth. The corners of my vision darkened just as I heard a popping sound.

  Jason jerked forward, letting go of my throat. Cool, beautiful air rushed into my throat, expanding my lungs. Slowly he lowered his chin. My gaze followed. Bright red splattered across the center of his chest. A second later, his legs folded like a paper sack and he fell. No twitching. Nothing this time.

  Heart racing, I lifted my gaze to the opening in the cellar. I opened my mouth and croaked out one word. “Cole.”

  Chapter 30

  I jolted awake from my nap, gasping air as I sat up in bed and pushed the blanket to my waist. Faint sunlight streamed through my bedroom window. My throat was hoarse, as if I’d been screaming, and—

  My bedroom door opened, and Cole strode in, worry pinching his features.

  I’d been screaming.

  Again.

  “Hey,” he said, walking to the bed.

  Placing my hands over my face, I squeezed my eyes shut. “Sorry.”

  “Like I said before and I’ll say it again, the last thing you need to do is apologize for a nightmare.” The bed shifted as he moved closer and I felt his fingers on my arm. He lowered my hand and then the other. “How bad was it?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “Not that bad.”

  “Sasha.”

  Lifting my chin, I looked over at him. Like every time in the last week, since the night in the cellar, his gaze took stock of the injuries. I’d healed a lot, but the corner of my lip was still sore and the side of my jaw was mottled in a lovely shade of blue and fading purple. There were bruises elsewhere, like along my hip, that still ached, and I had at least one headache a day.

  But I was alive, so I could deal with the bumps and the aches.

  I could also handle the nightmares, and that meant I was also going to do my best to be open with Cole. He wasn’t having it any other way.

  Lying down in the stack of pillows, I stared up at the ceiling. “I had a nightmare that he . . . he was in here while I was sleeping.”

  Cole cursed.

  “It’ll stop.” I looked over at him. “It will.”

  His jaw was hard. “It took ten years for the nightmares to stop the first time.”

  “But they did, because you . . . you are here.” That sounded cheesy, but it was true. “These will stop too.”

  He nodded stiffly as he positioned himself against the headboard and stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “You’re right,” he murmured.

  I stared at him, knowing what he was thinking. It was there, a shadow in his eyes for the last week. He was thinking what if he hadn’t gone to the mayor’s house. He was thinking what if while there, he hadn’t discovered the security camera the mayor had hidden in his office. He was thinking what if they hadn’t played back the video and seen Jason in the room with the mayor. Saw him forcing Mayor Hughes to write the suicide letter and everything else. He was thinking what if he hadn’t heard me shout his name from the cellar.

  It was Cole who’d been calling my phone, trying to warn me as he, along with Tyron and the agents, had raced to the inn.

  I tried not to think about what would’ve happened if Cole hadn’t showed when he did. Nothing good came from that. At all.

  My gaze shifted to the ceiling and I let out a soft, slow breath. James had been finally woken up yesterday. The blow had cracked his skull and put him in a coma, but he’d survived the attack by some kind of miracle. It really had been touch-and-go, because he’d been in the cellar all day, but that old man was going to outlive a nuclear war.

  I’d done a lot of soul searching this week, and I wasn’t the only one. Although Miranda had recovered physically, I knew the emotional and mental side of things would take a lot longer to get over. She’d been friends with him all these years, had become more and wanted more. Even though Miranda had never said it, I knew she had loved Jason—loved him as more than just a friend.

  And I couldn’t imagine what she was going through, but I would be there for her, whenever she wanted to talk about it.

  Jason had been smarter—much smarter—than his father. He’d fooled everyone around him. In the days after the confrontation with him, things were revealed about him.

  Cole had discovered unsolved suspicious murders in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia, but since Jason had changed the method of murder and appeared to pick vulnerable victims at random, it was hard to see a pattern.

  Until the agents took a look at the basement here and the one in his home.

  His cellar had been worse than the one below the inn, a true carnival of horrors. He’d collected trophies, and not just clothing like he’d kept here. Hair. Pieces of skin. Toes. God, the list went on and on. It would take months for the investigators to collect the DNA and ID the victims.

  There was a part of me that almost couldn’t believe it. That teeny, tiny piece of me that couldn’t fathom that he could be two different people. The Jason we trusted. He had access to the inn whenever he wanted. I’d left him here multiple times alone, giving him ample opportunity to snatch a key and to make a copy. And then there was the Jason who was a complete monster.

  I exhaled slowly.

  “It’ll get better.” Cole leaned over and dragged the strands of hair back from my face. “I can promise you that.”

  I smiled as my gaze traveled over his striking face. There was several days’ worth of scruff on his jaw. In all honesty, I would’ve been a complete mess if it hadn’t been for Cole. He’d been there through the worst of the pain, when walking from the bed to the bathroom caused my body to ache. He’d sat with me when I told Mom about Jason, and didn’t shy away when the inevitable burst of emotion followed. Cole was there the first time Miranda and I met after the night in the kitchen.

  That . . . that had been the hardest.

  “You still with me?” Cole’s hand lingered gently on my cheek, since it was still a bit swollen.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, reaching up and placing the tips of my fingers on his arm. There had been a hundred different things running through my head when I’d been trapped in the kitchen and cellar with Jason. I’d made good on several things. I wasn’t a victim. I got out of there. Miranda would be okay. I hugged my mom again. There was one thing I hadn’t done.

  I hadn’t told Cole that I loved him.

  And I was scared out of my mind to do so even though he’d been there for me. There was a part of me, probably a stupid part of me, that still feared he wouldn’t want to be in this for the long haul, because things . . . things were going to be rough.

  Nerves filled my belly, but I wasn’t going to chicken out. Life was too short. “I want to tell you something and I don’t want you to feel pressured to answer the same, okay? I just want to get—”

  “I love you,” he said, eyes a warm blue.

  I blinked. “What?”

  One side of his lips kicked up. “I love you, Sasha.”

  My lips parted.

  He cocked his head to the side. “You were going to say it first, right? And you were worried that I would feel obligated and say it too, so now you know a hundred percent that it isn’t because I feel obligated.”

  I stared at him a moment and then I sat up, ignoring the twinge