Stan
March 5 — The dungeon (AKA basement)
The basement smells like damp stone, motor oil, and the vague sense that my family has never emotionally processed anythingever.
They call it the dungeon, which is dramatic, even for my family.
Really, it’s just a long, dim hallway with a bunch of unused rooms and lighting so moody it feels like the house is trying to trick me into buying shirts from Hot Topic.
Here, the lights are low, lining the sides. They’re too far apart though, only giving enough visibility to keep me from eating shit down the stairs.
Classic Song-Smith hospitality.
I shove my hands into my pockets and walk down it anyway, my steps echoing and my head still spinning with so many memories from last night. Oh, and also from not getting enough sleep. I haven’t slept as well since kicking Em’s remixed Kys to the curb. I’ll have to tell her that side effect. Even after fucking fantastic earth-shattering sex, my damn insomnia’s coming back.
By the open double doors into a large garage, the air starts feelingice cold.
I step through, and the hallway widens into an underground garage that’s as spacious as upstairs.
I blink hard as soon as I flip the light switch on, ‘cause Damon clearly decided this place needed to look like a luxury car commercial for some reason.
Blinding white lights. Floors polished to a mirror shine. Spotlights mounted over some spots.
I scowl. Deliberate lighting choices?Bro.
It’s like I walked into a car dealership staffed with assholes who didn’t even show up to work.
Dead center sits Damon’s Lexus, gleaming like it expects applause. Sterling’s Valkyrie crouches close to it, all sleek lines and unnecessary tech, looking like it could kill someone just by revving.
I snort, rolling my eyes. Can’t have their precious quarterlife crises sitting in a dingy garage like normal people. God forbid a luxury vehicle ever experience humility.
For a few seconds, my sleep-deprived mind considers keying into ‘em. My hand even reaches for my keys in my pockets.
But I sigh and keep walking. They’d know it was me and kick me out of this mansion faster than I can make Em and Lix moan my name.
Speaking of those two, they’re really crossing off my sex fantasy checklist fast. Scratching my chin, I figure I might as well get creative and start adding more to my list.
While thinkin’ about it, I walk to the far end of the garage, past the showroom lights and into a patch where one overhead bulb flickers like it’s thinking about early retirement.
My Ford GT gleams red. Doesn’t even need the spotlight. It knows what it is.
I walk over and run a hand along the hood, checking for dust,scratches, any sign someone’s messed with it.
But it’s still perfect. Kinda like me. I wink at my reflection on the shiny red finish.
A couple of bikes are lined up beside it. My BMW’s closest to me, clean and tuned. Exactly how I left it.
Then there’s Lix’s Harley Davidson. Total cruiser. She’s still beautiful. Blacked out, solid, and patiently waiting for her man. I kept her running, cleaned her weekly, started the engine every few days like she might miss the sound of herself if I don’t. The idea of letting it sit dead felt wrong while Lix was out cold during his coma.
I squat beside it, checking the tires, the chain, the paint. All good. I tighten a bolt that doesn’t need tightening because my hands need something to do.
“Soon,” I murmur to it. “I promise, babe.”
I straighten and glance back toward the garage door, imagining the daylight outside of this estate and out there in Darkhaven. I imagine Em squinting at the sun through her cute glasses. And Lix denying he doesn’t love the feel of the breeze, if I could ever convince him to take his helmet off when he rides his hog.
But okay,fine, safety fucking first. I want him intact. Wouldn’t want to take away any more of his nine lives. I’m goddamn lucky he survived that insane cliff jump. I’m never gonna let him fall like that again. Unless it’s to fall in love with me and Em.
She’s never leaving either. They might not know it yet, but they’re mine, and now that I have them, there’s no going back.
