Bound By Blood: (The Betrayed Series Book 2) by Victoria Renteria

never ask.” Reaching down into a briefcase I hadn’t noticed before, he grabs a file that has to be every bit of four inches thick. Passing around copies, he looks at each of us and states, “Let’s get to work.”
    Striding back to the chair, I seat myself and grab hold of the thick file. As if we’re mentally connected, my thoughts send a final message to my Goddess before delving into the mass of papers in front of me. “Be strong. I’m coming for you, Goddess. I’m coming for you.”

 

     
    F LINGING MY EYES OPEN, I frantically search the room for the offending wetness. Penetrating cold spreads throughout my body, seeping into every pore. Standing before me in all of his menacing glory is the man from the basement. Sneering, he strides forward, eating up the space between us with several large steps. The ferociousness of his grin causes goose bumps to rise along my already chilled skin.
    “I’m so glad you are able to join us, Agassi.”
    Opening my mouth, I snap it shut immediately as flames shoot up the back of my throat, engulfing me in raw pain. Unable to abstain from looking around the room, my eyes begin taking in my surroundings. At some point, they’ve moved me back into the dingy basement with no windows and only one door. The bulb on the cord in the center of the room steadily sways like a pendulum in a clock. In the middle of the floor sits a large circular drain, stained in varying shades of dark gray and rust.
    Staring at the colors, my stomach lurches, twisting and turning as poisonous thoughts try to leech their way into my subconscious. It’s blatantly obvious what it is. There’s no need to spell it out. Rolling my neck to the side, I let my eyes fall to the walls, noticing the chains and tools decorating the space. A small gasp catches in my throat. Raw, excruciating pain expands, sending jolts through my esophagus as it contracts from the involuntary gasp. Slowly breathing in and out through my nose, I glare at the offensive objects one by one as hot tears begin sliding down my cheeks.
    The wall directly in front of me displays a shrine of sorts . . . an array of tools from the Spanish Inquisition. Biting down on my bottom lip, my eyes rake over the Iron Spider, better known as the “Breast Ripper”. A tool made of solid iron, that when heated, is used to literally rip the breasts off women. Staring at the horrid torture device, my tears begin streaming faster. My eyes slide to the next horrific device . . . the lead sprinkler.
    A horrendous device indeed. It was used to shower its victims with boiling water, tar, or even . . . lead. As I continue to stare at the wall, the knot in my stomach tightens. In all of my time as a teacher, I’ve never once doubted my career choice . . . until this very moment. However, right now, I find myself wishing I’d chosen an entirely different path. The phrase “ignorance is bliss” immediately comes to mind. For the first time in my life, I wish I wasn’t a teacher and hadn’t minored in history.
    I’d love nothing more than to be completely unenlightened as to what each and every one of these egregious devices are. My eyes once again slide across the wall, continuing their trek around the room and land on the rack. Who in the hell actually owns a rack? My mother. Of course she owns a damn rack. Why wouldn’t she . . . That’s my luck.
    Looking up at the ceiling, I notice the large hooks embedded with chains attached. Shackles line the walls and a small table with surgical instruments sits off to the side. No, not surgical instruments, knives of all different sizes. Letting my head fall forward, my chin rests on my chest as my tears continue to fall. A painful tightness sets in my shoulders. Rolling them, I try to alleviate some of the pressure when I notice my arms are tied behind my back, and my knees and ankles are bound together as well.
    Wiggling, I try to get the ropes loose. Firm hands painfully latch onto my shoulders.