Brant
I stormed into the club, the loud music briefly drowned under the weight of my rage. The heavy door slammed behind me as heads turned, eyes wide, as if they'd just seen a ghost walk in. I didn’t care. I pushed through the crowd without stopping, heading straight for the passage that led to the basement.
I had no doubt Marirose was down there—and I wasn’t leaving without her.
The bodyguard posted at the entrance saw me coming. He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside, eyes lowered. Smart man.
I descended the staircase two steps at a time, my boots pounding against the concrete, fury boiling in my veins. The air grew colder, thicker—the scent of sweat, bleach, blood, and fear clinging to the walls like paint.
The basement.
Where every sick, twisted thing happened. Torture. Punis
