I switched the stick shift down a gear as I arrived at a familiar set of gates. Only these gates were rusted and worn, hanging limply from their fragile hinges. Weeds wrapped like talons around the bars. They looked nothing like the imposing gates I remembered from my years spent living here. They were ruined and destroyed . . .

Just like anyone who had ever entered this fucking place had become.

Then again, maybe I was already different and altered when I first came here. But she wasn’t.

I got out of the car and approached the gates. The hot sun beamed down on me from above. I fixed my cravat, straightened my black shirt and vest, then smashed my foot against the gate’s pitiful lock. The gate groaned under my force but then swung open, baring the vast hell that lay beyond. I stood, breathing slowly, deeply, trying to calm the voices spinning around my head. The ones that told me to leave no soul here alive, to take down every one of the fuckers and make them pay in blood and screams and torture . . . The voices that had kept me company all these years, never letting me forget the penance that must be paid.

“In time,” I said out loud. Out of instinct, my hand ran over the pocket in my vest, searching for the pocket watch that had stayed by my side for so many years. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock . . .

I’m in here, it seemed to call from the mansion that lay beyond the long driveway and wayward trees. The siren’s call to the only two things that meant anything to my rotten core. My hand curled around the cane cradled in my palm. I glanced down, slipping my fingers down the black metal stick.

Rabbit, I heard Dolly’s voice whisper, a distant echo from the past, as I stared down at the decorative head of the cane. A white rabbit’s head, ears drawn back and teeth bared.

Rabbit.

Her rabbit.

Flicking my cane in a circle, I turned and got back into my car. I pulled forward, dust creating a smoky cloud behind me as my tires screeched on the now-dirt road. It was once paved and flat, but now it was bumped and degraded. I roared down the road, through the winding twists and turns. My hands tightened on the wheel when I approached the final bend.

The sprawling sight of the Earnshaw mansion lay just beyond. The house that birthed in me the beat that gave life, and the puncture that destroyed whatever semblance of a heart I once had.

My breath stalled as the edge of the brown-bricked building came into view. Moss and weeds crawled like a swarm of locusts up the once beautiful house, just like those spindling vines at the gates. The decay on the exterior reflected what had existed in the interior for too many years to count.

I knew those who had polluted this place with their poison were no longer here, but she was.

Finally, I was here to get her back.

As I pulled the car to a stop directly at the entrance, I looked at the stairs that led to the main doors. In my mind’s eye, the weeds covering the large oak doors I’d been dragged through as a child rolled back, baring the expensive shining wood beneath. The brass from the knob, shed of its orange and brown rust, gleamed in the sun once again. The overgrown grass on the lawn shrank to reveal acres of manicured land, and the dead and depressed floral border that framed the house sprouted into color, rich reds and yellows chasing away the thorns of dark and night. In my mind, the Earnshaw estate was once again pristine.

Then I too was back there. The night I was taken away. Taken from my darling . . . my Dolly . . . my breath, my sails . . . my soul . . .

The door swung open. Mr. Earnshaw marched out, followed by the “uncles” dragging me behind. My teeth clenched so hard I thought they would shatter as they yanked me down the stairs and into a waiting van.

Only seconds after I was thrown inside, the van pulled away. I sat in darkness, slamming my bloodied fists against the walls, trying to find my way out. “Dolly!” I screamed. “DOLLY!” I screamed over and over again. I screamed until my voice failed. My legs gave out, and I ignored the pain that shot through my body at the memory of what they’d done to me. One after the other for months and months. No reprieve. No breaks. Just them behind me, grunting and panting, ripping into me, pressing their chests against my back.

What they’d now done to Dolly. My Dolly. Her eyes . . . her eyes when that fat fuck brought her back to the room. Limping, blood running down her thighs. Tearful, pale . . . fucking destroyed.

My delicate living doll ruined.

In my mind, I replayed plunging the letter opener into Uncle Eric’s neck, his chest, his stomach. The blood that splattered onto my skin—hot and wet and strong in its metallic scent. The taste as it had hit my mouth, the flavor bursting on my tongue—the taste of his demise. The taste of my victorious kill. And I’d felt it, the power surging through me, as I’d felt his pulse slowing under my fingers. Saw his eyes draining of life.

I’d done that.

I’d ripped the life from him. With my own hands.

For Dolly. For my Dolly.

We drove for so long that I fell asleep. When I woke, it was dark outside again. A man dressed in black yanked me from the van and toward a tall water tower. It was white, but had no name painted on it. I looked around me: there was nothing but fields and fields. The man dragged me to the bottom of the tower, where a door opened. Pushed forward, I stumbled into the tower to see a set of stairs winding down below ground.

The man gripped the nape of my neck, forcing me to move. Down and down I walked, through the dark, until I came to an iron door. Bolts unlocked, metal ground, then the door opened and I was pushed inside. My eyes widened. Rows and rows of cells lay before me. Then a man stepped out from the shadows. An old man. The minute my eyes landed on him, my lip curled in warning. He smiled at me.

I envisioned his death in my mind. A bullet through his mouth would blast his brains out the back of his thick skull. Messy. Bloody. Brutal.

“You fucked with the wrong set of men, kid,” he said. He shook his head. “Had some fucked-up people in here for years now, some have been here from their teens, but you’ve gotta be one of the youngest on record.” The man behind me laughed and rubbed his hand down my back. I lurched forward and turned, staring at the fucker. I hated to be touched.

“Lotta my men gonna like that you’re so young.” I turned back to the older man and glared. “Oh, would you look at that? The little sadistic murderer’s pissed.” He put his hand over his heart. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the warden of this here establishment. The land of the forgotten. A place even the government don’t know about. No police. No Child Protection Services. Just you and me, and my men, and a hundred other twisted sick fucks that messed with the wrong people.” He stepped forward. So close that I smelled the cigar smoke on his breath. Just like Mr. Earnshaw smelled. Just like the uncles. “No one’s coming to save you. This is your new home. A secret Alcatraz funded by the filthy rich, the one percent who pay me very well to remove . . . problems . . . from their lives.” He shrugged. “Rich men, you see. They like to commit crimes, but don’t like to deal with the aftermath. That’s where we come in. A cleanup service, if you will.”

The warden looked at the man behind me. “The only cell left with any room is fifty-two.”

“That wise?” the guard said. “Not sure we want anyone else in with them. They’re bad enough without adding a third. Don’t wanna make them any more dangerous.”

The warden paused. “I see what you’re saying. It’ll be hard for the guards to get to him for pleasure, with those cellmates.” He flicked his hand. “But there’s no choice. He was a last-minute addition. It’ll have to do. Anyway, he’s just a kid. What harm can he do?”

The guard huffed in annoyance and shoved me forward. He led me up several sets of stairs. On every new level, I saw cells holding three or four men. Some licked at the bars. Some pointed at me, threatening to kill me. I felt no fear. I’d kill any of them who came close to me.

Sick fuck after sick fuck after sick fuck.

We came to a stop at a cell, and the guard took a gun from his holster. He held it out into the darkness of the cell. He quickly opened the door. When I didn’t move, he shoved me inside, clanging the gate shut behind me, and immediately backed away. I spun around, hands fisted, watching as he walked back down the steps.

A cold shiver ran down my back when I felt someone watching me from behind. “And who do we have here?” said a deep voice from the corner of the room.

I heard a rustle as someone else moved from another corner. I was surrounded. “A little Dapper Dan if his clothes are anything to go by. Slacks, shirt and vest. All black. Suave for someone so young . . . impressive.”

I squinted into the darkness. A single dull lamp sat on the back wall, but whoever was in here with me was shrouded by the darkness. Then I saw a flash of white to my left. Someone stood. I held my ground, my hands grinding into fists, ready to fight.

“Look at this, Henry. The little Dapper Dan is ready to take me on.”

“Good. He’ll need that kind of strength in this place,” a rougher voice said from my right.

Two footsteps sounded on the stone floor, and a man came into the light. A man with long blond hair down his back. He was dressed in black pants and a white shirt—both were filthy. He looked young. Maybe in his twenties. He put a hand on his chest and bowed dramatically. “The name’s Chapel.” He straightened, then smiled. He was handsome, with an accent I hadn’t heard before. He sounded rich, like he had money . . . sophisticated. “Welcome to the Water Tower. The keeper of all things dark. Like the trophy chest of the most fucked-up collector of the underworld.” He smiled wider. “I, as they might say, am a ripper of sorts.” My brow creased as I tried to understand what he meant. “Too much for you to comprehend?” He nodded. “You’re young. You may not have come across stories of men like myself yet.” He came even closer. “I have a, shall we say, unhealthy obsession with women of the night, and like to cut them open in the most delicious of ways.”

I swallowed, but never let my eyes leave his. He laughed and fixed the gold cufflinks on his shirt. “Lawyer by trade. Something of a young hotshot, you might say. Ivy League–educated, years before my peers. But alas, I’ve been here two years now.” Chapel looked into the far corner and flicked his head. He rolled his eyes when whoever was there didn’t move. “Henry, we have a guest. Introductions must be made. That is proper etiquette.” Chapel shook his head at me. “Yankees, you see. No manners, unlike my southern self.”

There was silence from the darkened corner, and then someone moved. A tall, well-built, brown-haired man stepped into the light. His hair was long too, but his was brown. He had the lightest brown eyes I’d ever seen. They looked almost golden. He looked about Chapel’s age. Maybe a bit younger? But a lot older than me. “This is Henry,” Chapel explained. Henry glared at me but said nothing. He only pushed his hair back from his face. “Now, Henry here is a doctor.” Chapel tapped his head. “Of the mind. A psychologist.” He laughed. “Quite ironic, no?”

I was wondering what Henry was in this place for when Chapel added, “Henry here has never done anything wrong. He is an innocent.” Suddenly, Henry’s eyes closed, his teeth clenched, and a strained sound ripped from his throat. His long hair fell back over his face. His shoulders rolled forward, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bulging at the movement. The change in his frame made him look huge. Bigger and more intimidating than before.

When Henry’s eyes reopened, he glared at me again. But this time he was different. His eyes were narrowed and tense. His nostrils flared and his hands rolled into fists.

“But this is Hyde,” Chapel said. “He is . . . not so innocent. Let’s just say he likes to watch people die . . . under his expert hand.”

“I like to watch that too,” I said.

Chapel smiled a surprised smile. “Splendid!” He winked.

“Though not as much as I like to kill them myself,” I added. Hyde stood straighter, a flicker of a smirk pulling on his mouth.

“Henry and Hyde are two different people living in the same body,” Chapel explained. “One always fighting for dominance over the other. A multiple personality disorder is the scientific diagnosis. Henry is a professional. A straightlaced man. Quiet. Reserved. Hyde . . . is quite the opposite.”

“What is this place?” I asked, looking around me. I didn’t care what these men were. I just needed to get out. I had to get back to my Dolly.

“Where those who want us gone have sent us.” Chapel tipped his head to one side. “But you are so young that you have piqued my curiosity. How old are you, Dapper Dan?”

“Twelve,” I replied. Chapel’s eyebrows rose. He looked down at my hands and smiled.

“Blood on your hands? Literally? Young Dapper Dan . . .” He tutted, then laughed.

“They hurt Dolly. They touched her. Touched her like they fucking touched me. Her eyes . . .” I felt my hands shake. “They made her cry. Her papa. Her uncles . . . they made her bleed . . .” I stopped when I felt like I would explode with rage.

“Then I would say you were justified in spilling that blood,” Chapel remarked, his smile fading.

“I need to get back to her. I need to save her. Stop them from hurting her more. I’m not there to protect her. She’s all alone. She—” I shook my head, thinking of Dolly. “She’s too fragile. She won’t be able to cope with what they’ll do to her. I know it. She . . . she’ll . . . they’ll destroy her. Not only her body, but her mind. She’s . . . different. Too delicate for this world.” I turned to the barred door and shook the metal. It didn’t move.

“We all have people to get back to, whether that be for revenge, protection or affection, but we have to bide our time . . .” Chapel said. “I just realized we did not learn your name.”

I didn’t turn around. I stared at the winding stairs that led back to the warden and his closed iron door. The door that led to the outside world. “Rabbit. My name’s Rabbit. The White Rabbit.”

“Well, Rabbit,” Chapel said, moving beside me. “We all plan to get out someday. And someday that will happen. Until then we wait. You will soon realize that all we do in this tower is wait. We plan and we scheme. We plan for the day we once again see the sun and seek revenge on those who thought they could hide us from the world.”

* * *

Three months ago . . .

The guards never came close to our cell door.

Eleven years. Eleven years I had waited. I heard the guards, of course. Heard them enter the other prisoners’ cells. Fuck them. Torture them. Do whatever the fuck they wanted to them.

But never ours.

Hyde and Chapel had made sure of that.

Hyde and Chapel had nearly escaped a year before I arrived. Hyde had ripped a guard’s throat out when he had come too close to the bars. The guard was too cocky. He had taunted the monster within Henry. Until the monster was freed and killed him where he stood.

“We won’t fail again,” Chapel had told me shortly after I arrived all those years ago. “When the next opportunity arises, we will succeed.”

So when a new guard started . . . a guard who couldn’t keep his eyes off Chapel’s good looks, opportunity burst in Chapel’s eyes.

A smile here.

A wink there.

The closer the guard came.

A fly to his sticky trap.

I twirled the needle in my hand, the one that Chapel had used to draw my tattoos. The needle thrown into my cell when an infection had almost killed me. The infection was bad, but I wouldn’t let myself die. I needed to get back to Dolly . . .

“Why are they helping me?” I asked Chapel through gritted teeth as I stabbed the needle into my leg.

“Those who paid a handsome sum to place us here want us to live. For living is punishment, Dapper Dan. A lifetime spent in a dank, dark cell. Most at some point have wished for death. It is easier than enduring this day after day.”

My eyes were steel. “I haven’t wished for death,” I bit out as cold shivers accosted my body. “I won’t die without Dolly.”

Henry moved to sit beside me, throwing his shirt over my body for warmth. “And that is what makes you different. You and Chapel.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “And Hyde. I would like nothing more than to be put out of my misery. I welcome the peace that death would bring. But Mr. Hyde within me won’t ever let that be . . .”

I sat back in the dark. The pack of cards I had drawn was safely in my pocket. All but one. The one of my Dolly. The one Chapel had used to draw the tattoo on my back. Her perfect image and likeness. The picture that kept her alive in my head as every day in the Water Tower grew longer and darker.

I looked up as the new guard passed by our cell for the third time in the last thirty minutes. Chapel was already on his feet, waiting for him. His shirt was off, his chest and torso bare. The guard’s eyes flared when they landed on Chapel. Chapel walked slowly to the bars, running his hand over his chest. Then his hand dropped further down to his cock. Hyde stifled a laugh beside me as the guard almost fell over himself at the sight.

When the guard moved away, Chapel came and sat beside me, waiting for him to return again. Every day, he amped up the seduction.

“You like him?” I asked, narrowing my eyes on Chapel. I owed him, Henry and Hyde everything. The guards never once touched me, out of fear of them. Chapel taught me math and literature and art. As an artist himself, with only sharpened stones and walls for his tools and canvas, he had taught me everything he knew. Henry prepared me for what state I might find Dolly in.

Hyde had taught me how to kill.

All I needed now was to put it into practice.

Chapel rolled his head my way. “He is young and not too hard on the eyes.” He smiled, then leaned in closer. “I can appreciate the male form, Dapper Dan, but I’m afraid cock does nothing for me. I am partial to a whore’s hot, wet pussy . . . then her dying in my arms afterward, of course.” He shrugged and sat back. “Though I am not opposed to using my . . . God-granted wiles to help our cause.” His brushed back his long blond hair. “I am the quintessential narcissist, Dapper Dan. I believe my unrivaled looks can win anyone over.”

He was right.

As the days passed, the guard came closer and closer to the bars. Over the months he had snuck us paper, card, pencils and pens. I had created my cards. Chapel had used the ink to draw my tattoos.

All at the request of Chapel. All because of his seductive efforts with the cock-hungry guard . . .

“You will not kill me for touching you, will you, Dapper Dan?” he asked as he hovered over my bare skin with the needle and ink.

“Just do it,” I said through clenched teeth. As his hands touched my skin, I thought of Dolly. It was the only way I could stop myself from attacking the man that had kept me alive and untouched this far . . .

I awoke with the sound of something clattering against metal. I shot up, my eyes trying to see what was happening. Chapel was naked . . . and had the guard by his throat against the bars. Chapel’s hand covered his mouth. The guard flailed, trying to get away. I jumped to my feet, but Hyde had charged to the bars, my needle in his hand, before I could even move. He stabbed the needle into the guard’s neck.

Hyde held the guard as Chapel reached for the keys on his belt. In seconds, the door was open. I stared, fucking stared at the open door, heart slamming in my chest. Chapel seemed to be as shocked as me as he hovered on the invisible line that separated the cell and the freedom beyond.

Chapel glanced back at me, and a huge smile began to pull on his lips.

He stepped over the threshold and relieved the guard of his knife and gun. The guard’s blood trickled from his neck wound and ran down his body. My breathing increased in speed at the sight of the blood. Unlike most people, blood didn’t repulse me . . . it made my dick hard.

I walked to the falling blood like it was a magnet drawing me in. Hyde looked back as the guard’s eyes began to drain of life. I was no longer paying attention to the open door, too focused on the seeping wound on the guard’s neck.

Hyde smiled, showing all of his teeth. “End him,” he instructed. His neck cracked as he rolled it from side to side. “Use the darkness that lives inside you. Think of the all the things I taught you… and finally use them.”

A knife was suddenly in front of my face. I looked up. A still-naked Chapel was holding out the guard’s blade for me to take. “We need to be quiet,” he whispered. “Best not let the other guards know we are free. Surprise will be the key here, Dapper Dan.”

I took the knife.

I stared into the guard’s eyes.

And I plunged the blade right into his heart.

I twisted the knife, hot blood coating my tattooed hands. “I want more,” I rasped, only removing the blade when the guard’s eyes froze in eternal sleep.

“Then we should proceed,” Chapel said and readied the guard’s gun. Hyde lowered the guard to the floor, keeping hold of the needle. And we moved. One by one we took down the guards until there were none left.

We stopped at the door that led to the stairs that promised our freedom. All of us were silent as we stared at that fucking door. Eventually, Chapel threaded the key into the lock and clicked it open. Turning, he took all the keys he had gathered and threw them into the other cells. The sound of doors opening accompanied us as we raced up the stairs we had been led down so many years ago.

When we burst into the dark night, I gasped, the fresh air scalding my lungs. Hyde moved beside me, and I caught his hands clenching into fists from the corner of my eye. He broke into a sprint, heading for a house. “The Warden,” Chapel said, then followed Hyde.

Feeling my blood thrashing through my veins, I let the adrenaline take hold and ran too. As I burst through the door, I heard the sound of screaming from upstairs. Chapel made it to the bedroom just a second before me.

The Warden and his wife were lying in bed, their blood seeping from the stab wounds Hyde had inflicted on them. Hyde was panting, out of breath, eyes lit with bloodlust.

Chapel walked to the closet and pulled out a shirt and pants. When dressed, he said, “We need money and a car. I’ll get the keys for the car, you two find cash. There’s no way this fucker kept what he was being paid in a bank.”

Thirty minutes later, we were in a truck, Chapel in the driver’s seat. Hyde called shotgun, and I took the back, bags of the Warden’s money surrounding me. I stared out the window as we crossed states, driving to one of Chapel’s secret houses. I thought of Dolly, and the plan I had concocted with the help of Chapel and Hyde.

For the next few months I planned my return, gathering the information I needed to make it all go without a hitch. I trained to kill with Hyde. I worked on my detailed plan with Chapel. Bought clothes. Had weapons made. Conversed with the corrupt private investigator Chapel knew from his days before the Water Tower.

After three months, I was ready.

Ready to come back for my girl.

Ready to lead her down the rabbit hole.

Ready to kill with her by my side.