Wine bottles fill the surrounding shelves, and I see that it’s nothing but a boring wine cellar. The farther I walk in, the less sinister it seems, but the tray of food Edward was carrying is still bugging me. As I go deeper into the vault, my eyes adjust, and that’s when I see what Edward was feeding.
"Jema." The man on the floor croaks out my name and blinks at me a few times. “Jema, thank fuck, you have to get me out of here."
He knows who I am? The young man tries to get up from the thin mattress shoved into the corner on the floor, but the chain hooked around his waist doesn't allow him to. I see the untouched food sitting on the ground next to him, and then I notice on the other side a lone chair with a drain below it.
The scene is like something out of a horror movie, but my brain is still trying to make all these pieces fit together. Maybe the chair is for wine tasting? Wine spills and maybe they need drains for it. Right? I’m sure this is all fine.
My eyes flick up and down the man, and there’s no denying this is fucked up. I can tell he's been down here for more than a few days, and that’s when I see the bucket near the end of the mattress.
“Is that...” I start to say but can’t finish the sentence.
"He treats me like an animal," the man tells me. "Look what he did!" He holds up his hands, and there are two fingers missing. I stumble backward at the sight, and he jerks closer. "Jema, what the fuck?"
"I don't know who you are," I manage to get out. Why is this man down here?
"This is so not the time for one of your jokes, Jema." He yanks at the chain. "Find the keys and get me the fuck out of here.” He’s barking orders at me, and I slowly shake my head before I take another step back. If he's down here, there has to be a reason. "Are you serious right now? This is Salvador Roven's home. You know who that is, don’t you? Stop being stupid."
"Of course I know who he is." This guy doesn’t have to be an asshole to me. I’m not the one that locked him down here.
"Then help me get the fuck out of here." He glares at me with cold eyes that make my skin crawl. If he knows me, he sure doesn’t seem to like me.
"I think I should maybe talk to my husband." I take another step back, and the man's eyes widen with panic now.
There’s something about him that is familiar. It’s playing at the edge of my mind, but I can't place him.
"Your husband?"
"Sal."
"Sal? You're calling that sick motherfucker Sal? How fucking stupid are you?"
What’s with this jackoff? "Yeah, I'll go get him."
"No!” the man shouts. “Jema, please. What is wrong with you? He's a fucking mob boss."
"No, he deals with importing and exporting." I'm quick to correct him, but something about what he’s saying sounds right.
"Is that a ring on your finger?"
"Of course it is. I'm married." They must have knocked the sense out of this guy.
"Jema, you're not married! It’s me, Joey. We grew up together in foster care. You work at a diner, and everyone in this city knows not to fuck with Salvador Roven."
"I fuck with him," I say and laugh at my own joke. Although this guy doesn't think I'm funny.
He launches into a tirade that has him all over the place. One second he’s pissed, and another he's almost crying and pleading. He tells me about us and growing up together and then he tells me that my husband kidnapped him. He goes on and on, and I have to admit he does sound convincing.
Once he’s finished, I fill him in about hitting my head. It might not have been the best idea because he pounces all over it.
"Why should I trust you more than him?" I ask, not wanting to believe this guy.
"Why trust Salvador? Clearly you know him as well as you know me."
"I mean, I know what his dick looks like,” I deadpan, and the blood drains from his face. Oh god, did I used to know what Joey’s dick looked like too?!
"You're a virgin," he says, and I snort a laugh.
"I promise you I am not. My husband can't keep his hands off me.”
