The Beast (Black Dagger Brotherhood #14) - J. R. Ward Page 0,158

Putting the cell away, he palmed one of his guns and patted around the exposed beams next to the door.

When he found the light switch, he flipped it—

And recoiled in horror.

A naked male was chained on the bare stone floor in the corner. Chained and trembling as he curled in upon himself, ducking his head and holding onto his skeletal legs, his long hair the only covering he had.

The smell … the smell was of an old meal that had been left on a tray just within reach of him. Facilities, such as they were, were beside him, a mere hole that opened into the earth. There was also a hose, as one might find in a garden, hanging on a peg. And a bucket.

As long as Assail would live, he would ne’er forget the soft chiming sounds that rose up from the male’s tethers as that scrawny body shook.

Assail took a step forward.

The whimpering was of that of an animal.

“I shall not hurt you,” Assail said roughly. “Please know … I … whate’er are you imprisoned herein for?”

Even though he knew.

This was a blood slave. He was staring at a blood slave—there were even … yes, there were the tattoos: one around the throat, and a pair on the wrists.

“How may I be of help?”

There was no reply, the male merely tightening himself even further, the bones of his elbows seeming to break through his skin, his ribs like claw marks down the sides of his torso, his thighs so small that his knees seemed as great swollen knots.

Assail looked around, although that was daft. What was in the room was there and unchanged.

“I need to get you out of here.”

Wrenching around, he pictured the way out. “I’m getting you…”

What could he do? Carry the poor male?

Assail went further into the dungeon. “Here now, be of ease. I am not about to harm you.”

He was cautious as he approached, and he was very aware that his brain had lit up like a switchboard, all kinds of thoughts swirling and disturbing him.

“My dear male, you mustn’t fear me.” He made his voice stronger. “I am here to rescue you.”

The slave’s head lifted a little. And then some more.

And finally, the male looked at him with terrified, red-rimmed eyes that were sunken so far into his skull that Assail wondered how much longer life could be sustained.

“Can you walk?” Assail demanded. When there was no response, he nodded down at those legs. “Can you stand? Can you walk?”

“Who…” The word was so reedy, it was barely a syllable.

“I am Assail.” He touched his chest. “I am … no one of importance. But I shall save you.”

The slave’s eyes began to water. “Why…”

Assail leaned down to touch the male’s arm, but the slave’s autonomic jerk was so violent, he retracted his hand immediately.

“Because you are in need of saving.” As he spoke in an utterly raw tone, he felt in some way as if he were addressing himself. “And I … I am in need of a good deed to prove myself.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he calculated the distance up to, and out of, the grand home’s front door. The time that had elapsed since he had left the study. The amount of ammunition he had on him. The calls that would have to be made to his cousins. To Vishous.

To anyone.

Shit. The chains.

No, he could handle them.

Reaching into the holster under his arm, he took out the nine millimeter he’d brought with him and then retrieved its silencer from his jacket pocket. With quick twists, he screwed the equipment into place on the muzzle.

“I need you to move.” He indicated the way toward himself. “I need you away from the wall.”

The slave was still trembling, but he attempted to comply, dragging himself on all fours from the place he habitually curled up—indeed, one could see the imprinted shadow on the stone of both the floor and the wall as the male vacated the area.

All at once, sweat broke out over Assail’s body, beading upon his upper lip and across his brow—and his heart abruptly thundered.

“Stop it—” As the male froze, Assail shook his head. “No, I’m speaking with myself. That was not directed at you.”

The chains were anchored to the wall via a ring that was thick as a male’s thumb and as wide as a neck—and which was bolted into the stone.

Any bullet was going to ricochet around. But what choice did he have?

Leaving the slave here was certainly not