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But I can also see that the bolt is not locked.
I know it’s a mistake. I know I shouldn’t.
Even as I know these things, though, I stare at the door, consumed by my need to know more.
I take two steps closer, reaching out a hand to grip the metal handle and then, my inner voice still screaming at me to stop, I pull it open just a crack and look inside.
The noise from inside is suddenly louder without the thick door to keep it in.
I see two men facing me, strapped to chairs, fabric gags tied
across their mouths. They’re moaning, one sobbing, as they look
at something just out of my sight, terror in their eyes. As I watch, though, their torturer reveals himself.
Kent, dressed in his suit pants and an undershirt, steps into my
line of sight. My eyes take in the strong muscles of his back, the
rage that I can see pulsing through him just by the way he stands
over these men.
He’s wrapped his belt around his hand, a long piece of it hanging. down from his fist, the buckle dangling. As I watch, Kent rips his
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fist to the side, letting the belt drag across the men’s faces like a whip, the buckle tearing the flesh of their cheeks.
“TELL ME,” Kent commands, his shoulders heaving. The men
tremble before him, crying. They shake their heads no, but this is apparently not the answer that Kent wants. He drops the belt, moving to the man on the left and pulling a knife from his pocket.
The man starts to scream as Kent stands behind him, pressing
the sharp edge of the knife to the man’s pinky finger. The scream
turns to a howl of horror, of pain, as Kent presses the blade
deeper.
I’m frozen to the spot, horrified. Though I can feel myself
trembling, I can’t move, can’t stop watching. The man not being
cut begins to scream in panic, looking everywhere for a way out
and then –
Oh my god –
His eyes fix on me. He sees me peeking through the door, fixates on me. He begins to scream in my direction and I think I can hear the words “help! HELP!” reverberate through the room.
Sensing a change, Kent’s eyes shift to the other man and then
move directly to me.
I gasp and push the door shut and then bolt–bolt – from the
hallway.
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Panic moves me faster than I thought I could go as I scramble up the stairs, sprint across the kitchen, pull open the kitchen door and then use the banister to propel myself up the main stairs two steps at a time.
Oh my god, I think, he’s a monster, he’s a psychopath!
Of course, I had already made this assessment – in jail when I’d interviewed him, then again when he kidnapped me – but now? The truth feels like it has hit home inside of me, after seeing that scene in the Mafia King’s basement.
I reach the top of the stairs and throw myself towards my room, my fingers inches from my doorknob, when something grabs me around my waist, hauling me back against a solid body-
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Gifts
Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father
1/3
Chapter 46
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