Tom Simpson’s hideout.

I parked a block away to hide my car and then walked stealthily to the small abode.

I didn’t bother knocking, just turned the knob on the door. Oddly, it was open. I walked in. A nice enough home, sparsely furnished.

“Tom? Come out here, you sick son of a bitch.”

No response. Not that I thought there would be. I walked through the living area, down a hall, to a couple of bedrooms. One was clearly being used, but no one was there. The door to what turned out to be a bathroom was also closed, but I opened it and walked in, not caring if I might catch Tom Simpson in the middle of a crap. But it was also vacant.

On the other side of the bedrooms was a small kitchen. Supplies had clearly been laid in. One more door. I opened it. It led to a dank basement surrounded by dark concrete walls. As I descended the stairs, eerie fingers seemed to crawl over my body.

The steps. The walls.

I inhaled, nearly gagging. Waste. Whether it was human or animal, I didn’t know.

I looked around once I got to the bottom.

My heart nearly stopped. It was exactly how Talon had described it. I could almost see the phoenix on the dark gray walls, taunting him.

I had just walked into the cave-like cellar where my brother had lived for two months when he was a child of ten.

My skin tightened around me. I could hardly catch my breath. Was there no oxygen in this place?

I suppressed my fears as best I could and looked around. No windows, which was odd, and the room was pitch black. I waited for my eyes to adjust, feeling the wall for guidance, and I checked out the space. The rough concrete walls scratched at my—

I jerked.

A groan had come from the corner. I inched forward slowly, and a heap of blankets emerged in my field of vision. More groaning.

Someone was here. Someone in this basement where those three psychos had kept my brother.

I didn’t dare speak. I made my way slowly and quietly to the blanketed lump on the floor and removed the dirty covers.

The body, bound and gagged, recoiled away, whimpering.

My God.

It was alive.

“Hey, hey,” I whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

It was a male, naked, his bony body streaked with blood and grime. His head had been shaved.

“I want to help you. I’m a friend. I’m going to take the gag off of you, but don’t scream. All right?”

The man whimpered and nodded.

I removed the gag carefully. “Who are you?”

He groaned, muttering unintelligible words.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. I’m going to get you out of here.” As quickly as I could, I unbound his ankles and wrists.

I startled when a sound like a board creaking came from somewhere upstairs. Tom must have come back. I threw the dirty blanket over the sickly man. “Shh,” I said. “Don’t let him know I’ve untied you. I’ll take care of him. If I don’t come back for you in half an hour, find something to use as a weapon, and get the fuck out of here.”

I hated leaving him there, but he’d at least be safe while I was in the house. I’d told him to leave if I didn’t return, but he was so bony and sickly-looking, I wondered if he’d be able to get up the stairs.

But he would. Talon had gotten up those very same stairs.

“I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

I hoped I’d be able to keep that promise.

I walked toward the stairway, the dark walls seeming to pulse and close in.

My God, how had Talon survived this?

And who was the man in the cellar?

I willed myself to get a grip and ascended the stairs slowly. I had come here alone and unarmed. I hadn’t thought about protecting myself. I could kick the shit out of Tom Simpson with a look, and if he had a knife, I could easily disarm him.

But if he had a gun…

The man was a killer. A cold-blooded killer. And God only knew what he’d done to this poor man in the cellar.

Bile nudged up my throat. That was a crock. I knew exactly what Tom had done. The same thing he’d done to my brother.

I shut the door of the basement quietly and walked through the small kitchen. The doorknob to the front door turned slowly.

A man entered, carrying a bag of groceries. As far as I could tell, he was unarmed. The hair on his head was dyed dark brown.

But the eyes…

A maniacal smile crossed my face. I had him.

Finally.

Finally, I would avenge my brother.

My smile became wider.

“Hello, Tom.”