The Boss's Son | ✅

29

Violence ahead! Continue with caution.

Henry's gun pressed into my temple while his other hand had seized my throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh underneath my jaw, making it hard to breathe and to think. Should he keep the grip up for much longer, I would pass out from lack of blood and oxygen in my head.

"First things first," he hissed against my ear. His body pressed flush against my back. He was no Adrian, but he kept in shape. With the dark abyss of a narrow and steep staircase in front of me, I was in a difficult position. A tiny bit more pressure away from unconsciousness, Henry could as easily shoot me as he could break my neck. I had one torch and no room for mistakes. "You're a sneaky bitch with tricks, Tess. I know you. Drop the torch."

Ok, no torch. Henry rose on the viable opponent scale in the speed of light. What unnerved me most was his utter calmness. Even a villain had to train long and hard for that level of control that allowed sharp thinking and clear decisions under the thread of life. You had to be sure in your capabilities, had to be gone through the steps a million times. Henry had it down to the dot. Not the slightest indication of uncertainty. Not the smallest hesitation. So far. This duel had just begun.

As the torch cluttered to the floor, Henry released me. Before I knew, it even happened, he shoved me forward. I tumbled down, banging into the corner where the staircase turned as I went, and ended up at the bottom, gasping for air and my head spinning.

The light went on. I heard a generator buzzing somewhere not too far away. The floor was damp, the stone most likely the source of the moldy smell I had detected in the air when opening the door. I rubbed over my face as an order for my head to clear. My hand came away bloody. I had at least one cut over my eye. Fucking twat. My wedding was just one month away.

Steel caps connected with my lower back. Henry had literally kicked me in my arse.

"Get up!"

When I didn't react fast enough, he shot the ground next to my head. Stone fragments sprayed me. Considering his shooting skills, he should be careful with such histrionics.

I stemmed myself up on hands and knees. There, I had to pause. I felt dizzy. My vision was slightly blurred. I knew how to fall. Nevertheless, I must have banged my head pretty hard to have suffered traces of a concussion. I veiled my moment of indisposition by looking around.

Henry towered over me, gun in a steady hand and trained at me. His eyes were cold, his face lacked any emotion. He stood on the last step and blocked the only way up. Behind him, I could see that he had locked an iron lattice door, matching the bars of the house's windows. It must have been folded back against the wall for me not to have seen it, when I discovered the basement.

What the hell anyway? I had thought the bars had been added to keep out intruders. But the interior design choice at the basement entrance made me rethink my initial theory. Great. Things just had become interesting. Even when I made it past Henry, to pick the lock would take time. I was tempted to ram my shoulder into his legs, make him fall over, and make a run for it.

The sole of his booted foot landed squarely on the upper part of my chest and sent me flying into the metal wall behind me. Momentarily, the breath was knocked out of my ribcage. An even vibration penetrated my body. It appeared that I had found the energy source. Unfortunately, its controls were covered by a locked door or we would continue this tete-a-tete in darkness.

"Stuff your funny ideas. I'm no beginner at this." I would never had guessed. Seriously. Mike's Henry had even been vegan because he couldn't see any animal suffer or be killed. Now this gentle artist motioned with his gun to the middle of the room. "See the pretty manacles there? Take your shoes off and fasten the manacles around your bare ankles. I want to hear the locks click shut. GO!"

Before he could shoot again, and maybe accidentally hit something, I crawled over the solid concrete floor to the spot where a short chain with manacles on either end was deep-seated into the spotted, dirty ground. While I untied my laces to pull off my boots and fastened my own legs with the iron to the floor, I took in the three cages that were lined up against the wall. All three were large enough to hold a cowering human. The wafts of air coming from their direction stank of excrements and decay.

One part of a wall was dedicated to implements of different sizes and shapes. They ranged from pointy and sharp to blunt force trauma inducing, and set off nicely the paint brushes, canvases, and artist tinctures that were interspersed. Henry also had a chair so that he could vary his models' position, complete with restrains to hold a person in place; and an Andreas Cross, too.

"What is this place?" I asked as the second lock closed, keeping the cold metal tightly wound against my bare skin.

Henry leaned his frame against the staircase's final column and looked proudly at his realm. He had never felt more real to me than in this one short moment, making me realized what I had always known deep down inside me and why I could never stand him. The man, I had known, had been a total fake. "My practice room," he finally gushed. "The place where I perfect my skills."