Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Sixty Five

Bianca

"Move," Franko pulled me from Benji's relative safe hold, forcing me to walk between them as Derek led the way through the overgrown greenery that had me tripping every few steps.

I remember this from before, when we hiked inland.

Thoughts began to swirl in my mind, echoing the jovial resonance of my father's voice during that journey. I can vividly recall coming to the door, nearly camouflaged, its surface melding seamlessly with the surrounding backdrop as if it were an intrinsic part of the scenery rather than a passageway to hell and back.

I will the images to go away, not wanting to see that night, not wanting to relive it again so soon after the last time. But the further we walk, the more I see. The more I remember.

The uneaten meal paved the way for me to be taken to the bedroom, a room equipped for a girl. Pretty dresses hung from a rail, and perfumes remained unopened on the side. The room was warm in pinks and golds yet felt oddly untouched.

His hand's roaming body, his breath whistling past my ear as he breathed with ragged breaths.

"What's going on in that mind of yours?" Derek's voice brings me from the memory of him forcing his way inside me. It's the lesser of two evils, yet I'd prefer to talk to him in the present than relive being used like a ragdoll beneath him as my father watched from the sidelines.

"Shouldn't you have blindfolded me?" I break my silence as the door swings open with a creak. My heart races, knowing once we're down there, I'll be almost untraceable and as good as dead.

No one would know this door is forty minutes inland unless they knew it was there already, and I know for certain Niko does not.

Have I set him up to fail?

Will I disappear into thin air, never to be seen again?

"I don't plan on letting you out of my base, little Bambi. A trapped person cannot spread untruths," he reveals, stroking my cheek with some endearment before stepping down into the dimly lit stairway. "Besides, you're home now. There's no need for you to leave."

I follow behind, Franko pushing me with enough force that I need to hold my weight on the railing on the top step. I grin and bear his disrespect, catching myself to begin descending the stairs as fast as I can down into the depths of hell.

With each step, my stomach sinks a little more. Then we enter through the large metal door at the bottom of the stairway, opened by Derek's fingerprints. Dim light gives way to bright white light, and rusty metal gives way to luxury furnishings.

My jaw almost hinges open. From above, you'd never know men of Derek's calibre live below. But here inside, you can see no penny has been spared in making this underground bunker a home for the Elite.

Plush carpets swallow my feet; daring golds line the wall. Chandeliers hang at an equal pace as we walk in tense silence.

Antique wood furnishings litter the corridor, and expensive paintings hang on the walls that we travel down. Then, the small walkway bursts into a large room, where a sofa fit to seat over twenty stands before a wall clad with a television large enough to call it a small cinema—which unfortunately looks wholly inviting.

"Keep moving, Bitch," Franko hollers to me when I stop to stare at a photo of him and his father and brothers. It strikes me as unusual not to have a mother present, but I cannot think about it too closely because the urgency with which Benji pushes me forward shows me I'm in the wrong for stalling. And I am stalling; the further we travel inside, the more I realise the gravity of my decision, and yet there's no going back now.