Secrets Room

by Kim Faulks

  Slade had never met the senator’s bitch before. He’d never been privy to the high-end meetings. He didn’t have to be. Corey normally spilled his guts over a couple of bottles of bourbon and some blow. Getting messed up in the senator’s shit was a bad move.

  Slade had voiced his opinion and had been shut down. The deal was done. The club, or Corey in other words, was about to get fucking rich. Late night deals had become the norm for the past few months. There was something going down. Something his brother wasn’t telling him.

  He pulled the truck around the back of the house and killed the engine. The place was a mansion. Black glass and hard lines, it looked more like a military installation than a home. He yanked open the glove box and pulled out his Glock, tucking it into the band of his jeans at his back. The weapon was all he brought with him. He jerked as instinct kicked him in the guts—he now wished he’d brought more.

  The crunch of stones under his boots sounded loud in the early morning air. Daylight was heading his way fast. He had to hurry. He jabbed the code into the digital lock and listened for the latch to retract before bearing down on the handle.

  The door swung in without a sound. Slade hovered in the doorway, hesitant to step in. There was something wrong here. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. He pulled the Glock from the spot at his back and gripped the weapon tight. The house was deathly quiet.

  Slade glanced up, searching the stairs and the second floor before dropping his gaze to the hallway. No, not here… up there. If there was going to be any trouble it’d be in the bedrooms.

  Slade slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed for the stairs. He kept listening as he climbed as the growing feeling of unease swelled. He pushed open each door as he passed along the landing, but found nothing, until he came to the last room.

  The room had been a study. Now, the room looked like the remnants of a police search. Broken furniture and scattered papers littered the floor. Slade made his way inside and kicked the chair aside. His attention was bought back to the files that lay open on the ground. He dropped to his knee drawn by the presidential seal, and picked up the page.

  At first, the words made no sense. He slumped to the floor, his body felt heavy, weighed down by every word he read. The page outlined the president's plans over the coming weeks, where he would be, how many secret service agents were to be with him, and the times he was most vulnerable. The plan was all here, every last detail of treason.

  What was the fuck was the Senator’s dog doing with this? Slade stared at the letter as the late night meetings, and this last pick-up now made perfect sense. Somehow, Corey was mixed up in this and so was the club. His club… no, not mine anymore.

  Slade flinched and dropped the letter as though it was his own death warrant. The warning in his gut now made perfect sense. This was why he’d been sent, when any of his brothers could’ve come in his place. He was being set up. There’s no leaving the club, brother. You know that better than anyone.

  He looked down at his gloved hands, they itched to get out of here, but he couldn’t leave—not yet. He stared at the page at his feet, finding a name amongst the pages… Colton Morris. That must be his name, the dog who does the Senator’s dirty work. Slade lifted his gaze to the overturned fax machine. He’d been backed into a corner and he could see only one way out.

  He grabbed the pages at his feet and stumbled to the busted machine, praying that the thing still fucking worked. The gray screen blinked. Error. Error. Error. Slade swore under his breath and glanced toward the doorway. He had to hurry. He yanked the power cord from the wall and shoved the plug back into the socket, whispering a thank you when the display blinked and replied, ready.

  The number… find the damn number. Slade grabbed his phone and hit the browser, searching for the number he needed—before he lost his goddamn nerve. His hands shook as he stabbed the buttons. How many pages did he have time to send? Selecting the four most crucial ones, he began to feed them into the machine, mentally urging the thing. Hurry up. Hurry up. Each creak and groan made by the house sent his heart racing. The last page slid free from the jaws of the fax machine as Slade caught the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He ripped the cord from the wall as the line light blinked and disappeared. He threw the pages to the floor.

  “What are you doing up here?”

  Slade glanced up at the man who entered the doorway. His shirt and hands were covered in blood. Being a crooked politician’s pawn looked fucking messy.

  Slade stood and made for the doorway. “Where should I be?”

  The man looked behind him to the scattered papers before focusing on Slade. His brows narrowed, his gaze darkened. Slade’s steps slowed and he felt his temperature rise. The guy was looking at him too fucking closely. Had he heard him? Had he heard the fucking machine? The steel at his back felt reassuring. Slade would take him down if he had to.

  The seconds felt like hours, until the guy stepped back, allowing him to pass. “Downstairs.”

  Slade followed him down the stairs and along the hall until he stopped what looked like a steel fucking door on the other side of the kitchen. What the fuck was this place? Slade watched the guy press his thumb against the biometric lock. The tiny red light turned green and the lock clicked open. Jesus, what did he have in here?

  “Just so you know. I'll be changing the codes to the gate and the house as soon as you leave.”

  Slade said nothing, but stepped into the room behind him and froze. “Jesus.”

  The cold voice echoed behind him. “This going to be a problem?”

  Slade's muscles fired and twitched, his pulse sped as he stepped deeper into the room. He tore his gaze from the vision and licked his lips. He wanted to run. He wanted to leave this place and not come back—ever. The urge to run was like a fever, quick to overwhelm him, and quick to wear off.

  Now, he didn't want to run. He wanted to stay right where he was. Slade spun on the sick fuck who waited near the door, punching the door hard. The steel hit the frame with a thud and locked. “Yeah. This is gonna be a big problem.”

  He scanned the objects that lined the walls. Things he'd never seen in his life. Things so cruel, even he couldn’t comprehend. He flexed his hands into clenched fists, using the seconds to steady his gut before he turned back.

  The woman in the corner called to him with her eyes. Slade glanced at her and grimaced. There was no going back now. There were no more decisions to be made, only an overwhelming urge to do something right, for the first time in his fucking life. Maybe right now, in this room he could right some of the wrongs he’d once done.

  “Keep calm. You’re here to do a job, that’s all.”

  Slade turned on him. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Now, listen here….”

  Slade listened to the senator’s man move around him. He tracked each sound and without warning, lashed out, catching the fucking piece of shit on the chin. The snap of bones and teeth filled the air. He'd seen men go down and never get back up with a punch like that. He'd perfected the blow many times over. “I said, shut… the… fuck up!”

  Colton stumbled backwards and screamed, but he stayed upright. Slade drowned out his wails by focusing on hurting him, on hurting anything.

  Kill him quick and get out of here. Slade pulled out his gun and glanced at the woman in the corner. Inside, he felt himself wither and die. He knelt down, staring into her eyes, being careful not to touch her. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise. He'll pay for what he did. I'll make him pay.”

  She stared up at him, silently.

  A chair. Slade grabbed a chair that sat in the corner and dragged it into the middle of the room. This time his actions weren’t weighted by dollars or death. They were weighted by his conscience, what was left of it.

  Colton stumbled for the door, pressing his thumb against the pad. The door clicked open. Slade's mind screamed no! Like a machine, he focused on one thing. He snatched a roll of tape from the bench and took off a
fter bastard.

  Slade geared up, allowing rage to be his motivation. He grabbed the bastard before he cleared the kitchen, taking him down with a side-kick to his knee. A pop filled the air a second before the screams. Colton dropped to the ground, clutching his knee. He struck Slade, but his feeble punches hurt no more than a child's. Slade grabbed Colton’s fist when he lashed out, dragging him back into the room.

  Slade yanked him close and stared into cold, soulless eyes. “You like to do that to women, huh?” Disgusted, Slade threw the man into the chair.

  “Let me go. Now,” Colton screamed and tried to stand. “Or I’ll be calling your fucking president!”

  Slade held Colton down with his body, binding his hands and feet to the chair. The bitch thrashed, screaming in his ear, but Slade was no longer listening. He turned to the row of tools, one of which lay on the bench, glistening with fresh blood. He was no longer interested in what this fucking scum had to say.

  “You like to watch them beg for their lives?”

  A light bulb blew behind Slade, casting him into shadows. He turned back to find the woman in the dark. The need to hurt this man overpowered the horror of what he’d done. In this moment, Slade was judge, jury, and executioner. He strode toward the bench and grabbed a set of cutters from the board before turning back.

  The glint of metal caught Colton’s attention. Slade couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the piece of shit’s eyes widen. “No. Don’t. I have money. I can pay you!”

  Slade opened and closed the wicked instrument with one hand while he wrestled the closed fist, prying one finger free. “It's too late for that.”

  “RACHEL. YOU SHOULD GO WITH the others.”

  Colton's voice navigated the minefield of her thoughts. Rachel squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head. She tried to block out the horror of what she’d seen... and what had seen her. But the image still came to life.

  She glanced toward the doorway to the smaller room and clenched her fist, trying desperately to hold onto her sanity. The sliver of sanity she had left was slipping through her fingers. Her palm stung as her nails drove through the flesh. That girl never stood a chance, even when she kicked and screamed. She was no match for that monster.

  Rachel knew the moment its black, soulless eyes met hers, that this was no man. Evil. Yes, this place was infested with evil. It was all around her, in these walls, in this floor… in these people. She wrenched out of Colton’s grip and spun, searching the others, searching for the blackness in their eyes. Colton couldn’t help her. No man could.

  No man…. Her breath caught as a tiny spark of hope flared to life. No man could help her. So she turned to the only one who could—God. Prayer would be her only savior and she clung to that belief as though her life depended on it. Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name....

  “Rachel, are you listening to me?”

  The whispered prayer inside her mind faltered. The horror in her mind did not. That thing had stared right at her. It’d looked into her very soul… and it liked what it saw.

  Dear God, please help me… Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, in earth, as it is in heaven....

  Rough hands gripped her, jerking her forward. Her head snapped back, making the bones of her neck grind in her ears. The sudden movement forced her back to the present.

  Rachel opened her eyes and stared at Colton. His words sounded slow and drawn. “Listen to me, Rachel. You need to go into the other room. It’s too dangerous in here.”

  Her gaze gravitated to where Jason writhed and growled like a rabid dog. He’d seen something in that room too, hadn’t he? Something that’d stayed with him. Would she be the next one who screamed and howled in the corner, while everyone else tried to pretend she didn't exist?

  It felt like only yesterday she dressed in Gucci and Prada and scoffed at those who drove anything less than a Lexus. Rachel closed her eyes, trying to hold on to something real. Her entire life had been ahead of her. Her purpose had been so clear, and now... now she was fighting for her life, and her sanity.

  Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil….

  Darkness filled her. A hopelessness she’d never felt before. Her reality had become like gelatin, shaking, wriggling, moving, never standing still. Rachel stared up at Colton, trying to find the words to make him understand. She couldn't go back into that room and she’d kill anyone who tried to force her. “Why don't we just kill everyone and be done with it?”

  Colton's brow creased. He gripped her harder and whispered. “What are you talking about? You're not making sense. You’re going to get us fucking killed.”

  “I saw a monster in that room, Colton. I saw it and it saw me… It wants to kill us. It wants to kill us all.”

  His fingers dug into her shoulders, grinding bone against bone. Rachel held onto the pain tearing down her arms. Pain and prayer were the only things she had left.

  “Listen to me. You have to get yourself together, Rachel. There's no monster in this, or any goddamn room. There's only us and the fucking animals that keep us here.” He moved closer, pulling her into an embrace, as though he was giving her comfort, as he whispered. “I think... I think your father's plan has failed and we're in some serious shit.”

  She flinched… plan? Rachel struggled to find the answers in her distorted mind. They came with an instant migraine. She reached for her temple. A vein pulsed, so close to the surface. The plan to kill the president… If Colton was right, if someone had figured out the plan, they’d also figured out it was them who was behind it. Rachel wrapped her arms around her waist. “How?”

  “I don't know, but it's the only thing that makes sense. Think about it. Your father wouldn't just leave you here, would he? He would’ve come for you before you woke.”

  He was right. Her father would've found a way to get her before now. An ache spread out in her chest. Daddy... where are you?

  “There's no monster in here, Rachel. There's only us. We have to make sure we survive until your father can get us the hell out of here. It’s our only hope.”

  The fog inside her mind shifted and the chaos of the room became clear. Running, screaming people... there was always screaming. Rachel dropped her gaze to the dead body in the middle of the room. “I had to stop her from talking, Colton. I had to do something to shut her up.”

  “I understand. You did what you had to do. Those who don't stand beside us, stand against us.”

  She nodded and relief swept through her. There was no monster in the room, just her exhausted mind playing tricks.

  Colton jerked his head to look over his shoulder and then turned back. “You need to go with the others. It isn't safe here. It isn't....”

  She glanced toward the door and all she could see was the fear on Amy’s face as she disappeared. Fear clenched her stomach like a vice. What if…? Rachel backed away, shaking her head. “No. I can't go in there.”

  Colton stepped back, holding her by her shoulders as he was suddenly hit from the side. She careened into someone and fell. She held out her hands, trying her best to support her fall.

  There was nowhere to go. An oof came from underneath her as a deafening scream filled the air. She cowered into the man underneath her, until she was yanked to the side. She pushed off his stomach and scrambled to her feet as Dee’s face came too close to her own. “Come on! Let them deal with this. We gotta find somewhere safe.”

  Dee yanked Rachel toward the room. Her heart leapt, smashing against her chest. No. She tried to pull out of the woman’s grip. “Please, no. I can’t. I can’t!”

  Dee stopped pulling on her arm. Instead, she stared at Rachel while the screams around them continued. Dee… Dee had seen the monster. “Please, stop. It’s in there… it’s in there!”

  Rachel wrenched her hand from the woman’s grip and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Dee glanced toward the doorway, taking her time before turning back.

  “What’s in there, Rachel? What’s got you so scared?�
�

  She gripped herself tighter but her arms provided no comfort from the cold inside. Rachel’s words were a hiss of pain and fear.

  “You know what’s in there, Dee. You saw the monster as well. It’s in that room waiting for us. It’s going to kill us all.”

  “Run, for fuck’s sake!”

  Colton’s scream drowned out her whispers. She caught movement at the edge of her vision and spun, catching sight of Jason as he raced toward her. She froze, caught on the savagery in his eyes and the curl of his lips—just like the monster she’d seen. Colton ran after him, tackling Jason to the ground, as did the biker. The two men held him as he clawed the filthy floor, inches from her feet, trying his best to reach her.

  She stared into his wild eyes and knew. He wanted to kill her and he would kill her, given the chance.

  Jason hissed and smashed Colton with his fists, before he gripped him by the shirt and slammed him backwards on the floor. A sickening crack sounded as Colton's head hit the floor. He lay there, blinking slowly.

  Get up! If he died, there’d be no one left to save her, no one left to get her out of here. The will to survive reared inside her. She’d be the last one standing, no matter what it took.

  Rachel shuffled backward, toward the smaller room, watching Morgan wrestle with Jason.

  “Kill them,” Rachel whispered, her thoughts aimed at Jason. “Kill them all….”

  Jason snapped his gaze up to stare at her, as though they were on the same frequency. Kill them all now. He bucked, knocking Morgan off, while Slade grappled with his hands.

  Holding onto Jason was like trying to capture a feral cat—like he knew he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  “Jesus!” Slade boomed. The sound made Rachel jump. “Stop it, Jason. We’re not going to hurt you, for fuck’s sake!”

  Philip danced around the spectacle, though he didn’t know which arm or leg to hold onto. The spineless man chose the wrong moment to act. He pounced, wrapping his arms around the screaming animal. Jason threw his head back and his unyielding skull met the soft flesh of Philip’s nose.