FORTY-SEVEN.

My mother takes my hand and leads me down the stairs to what appears to be their basement. When we reach the bottom step, my jaw drops as my eyes take in the scenery of the room.

My heart will be the death of me if it doesn’t learn how to slow down.

The walls are covered in black foam. In the corner of the room is a trolley with surgical tools neatly laid out on top; in the other corner, there is a makeshift cell with iron rods embedded into the ceiling and floor.

Unable to take it all in before bile rises from my stomach, I turn and look at my mother, who is staring back at me.

“Is this the Taurine Family’s torture room?” I ask her with apprehension lining my voice.

“Yes.” My mother replies without hesitation, turning her head to look in front of her.

“I don’t want to be here. I’m not a killer.” I blurt out, willing my feet to turn and run up the stairs.

Unfortunately, I find myself rooted to the spot when one of my father's men drags a very flustered-looking Olivia through a h