Urgency pressed on Dario’s shoulders while Ana fumbled with the keys to Fred’s mansion. He had hoped she wouldn’t ask him to accompany her inside Fred’s house, but fear reflected in her wide eyes. Only a coward would send her in there alone.
He squinted to make out shapes through the frosty glass decorating the door. The twining cast-iron vine ran through the amber glass obstructed his view. She grabbed the golden knob, slid the metal inside the keyhole, then exhaled a shaky breath.
“Doubt this key will work.” She stared at her hand. “I think Fred gave me a fake key to shut me up. He made it abundantly clear I’m just his guest. Though I feel more like his maid.”
Dario gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Hell, he’d be frantic to rescue a child if he found out he’d left him with a pedophile. “Please hurry. You may prevent the disaster. Gosh, Ana, I hope I’m wrong. Wait.” He grabbed her wrist, halting her. “Are his cronies staying here?”
She nodded. “There are five guys in the other half of the house. It has a separate entrance.” She finally turned the key, making the loud click of the bolt. At her push, the door silently slid open. “It worked!” Surprise laced her voice.
Dario followed her inside the spacious foyer. Fred had five guys guarding him. The number of his bodyguards seemed low, there had to be more of those who would fall for his money, local, unemployed, desperate men who had nothing left to lose.
A large bouquet of fresh white roses decorated the round mahogany table. Music drifted from the monstrous size television in the room adjacent to the open concept living room. She cast him a worried glance. “When I left, they’d played their gruesome killing game.”
Dario glanced at the screen as they slipped past it. Okay, so he wasn’t much of the gamer, but the split screen indicated two-shooter game. From the low score and EvilNoob profile name of the gamer, he figured it had to belong to Fred. Nickelodeon was the name Ana’s son picked for himself ever since he discovered the cartoon channel, so the higher score belonged to the kid. Had Fred tried to lose on purpose to get some brownie points with the lad or was he really that bad at these shooting games? He had to be, as Irena had said, his killing methods would include poison, freak accidents, sudden illness, not firearms. All executed by cronies on his payroll. Fred’s involvement could never be proven. No, the snake wouldn’t besmirch his name.
“Nicky, Fred.” Ana’s voice trembled as she called from the bottom of the stairs. “Where are you guys?”
Silence hung like a heavy curtain. A faint sound of running water drifted from the upstairs. She swallowed and put one foot on the bottom step. “Come on, guys. This is not funny. Where are you?”
The shower stopped, a moment later fast feet thumped on the carpeted floor, and a door on the other side of the hallway slammed shut. She gasped and
turned to Dario, her eyes wide and mouth agape. “Someone ran into Nicky’s room.”
“Let’s go upstairs.” Dario took her by her elbow, nudging her forward.
She halted. “Wait here. Fred will be pissed at me for bringing you to his house. I can’t accuse him of molesting.”
“Go see what’s going on. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay put.”
She ran up the stairs, her bare feet soundless on the thick carpet.
“The floor here’s wet and I can see small feet imprints.” She held the banister, one foot hung over the top step. Casting him a glance over her shoulder, she heaved a heavy sigh.
Dario gave her encouraging nod. “Just hurry.”
He tapped his fingers on the dark wood of the banister. All he could do was to speculate what happened while Ana was gone, but how was he to prove any of it? As all abusers, Fred befriended the boy, bought him stuff his parents couldn’t afford and gain his trust. Dario had to hand it to him, the man only knew the boy for a few days. Ana, gullible as she was, trusted the man mostly for the stuff his money could buy and therefore Nicky had no reason to doubt Fred. He must’ve taken the boy in his room and coerced him to shower together, but Ana and Dario’s unexpected arrival spoiled Fred’s plans. Still, the man had enough time to inflict some damage on the youngster.
A door popped open on the upper level. Fred strolled out of the room, a white towel wrapped around his neck while he pulled the white t-shirt down his pale, skinny torso and pudgy stomach. At least his trousers were done up and in place.
Like a liquid shadow, the man slid down the stairs. “What the hell? What are you doing…did Ana bring a knight without his shiny armor? Tell me, is your white horse tied to my fence?”
“Ana asked me to come in.” Dario scowled, saliva gathered in his mouth. Spit—his secret ammo he hadn’t used since his childhood—proved useful in gaining the upper hand in many fist fights. When Fred leaned his back on the wall of the hallway, Dario swallowed.
“I remember the summers. How I hated every minute I hang out with your dumb friends and your even dumber jokes, laughing at my expense, calling me nasty names, like Koschei or something.”
Dario chuckled, he had forgotten about the moniker. The dummy still hadn’t figured out the meaning of the name Koschei the Deathless, a Slavic legend of immortality, and a snatcher of hero’s wife. It suited him and not just because of the skeleton like appearance. According to the ancient tale, the creature hid his soul in a needle, that’s inside an egg, carried by the duck, existing within a rabbit, stored inside the iron chest, buried under an oak tree on an island protected by three winds. Those who held the egg controlled the being. Not an easy feat. Whether or not the Fates weaved into his life to win over Fred, Dario would fight with all he’s got. “Why did you tag along if you hated us that much?”
“You know why.” Fred lowered his gaze at Dario’s hips and moaned. “I always admired your tight little ass.”
Dario suppressed a gag. So the burning desire in Fred’s stares had not been a product of his imagination.