Free Under the Blood Moon (The Stargazers Trilogy Book 1) by Summer Lee

been raped.
    There was an old rolltop desk pushed up against the furthest wall. On top of the desk were papers and some lit candles that were giving off a blue glow. It was the only light in the room. The wicker chair was in front of the desk.
    She saw a small half-moon shaped window close to the ceiling and knew that she was in a basement.
    The only other items in the basement were a door to what she supposed to be a bathroom and more astrological charts and maps of the stars than she had ever seen in her life. They covered every wall.
    “Good. You’re up,” said the male.
    She was so mesmerized with where she was, that she didn’t notice the Jamaican accent immediately. Spinning around with a suitable amount of trepidation, she saw a very tall and very thin black man, with the widest smile she had ever seen.
    He wore a button up navy polo shirt, blue jeans and worn out sandals. He was bald with a tattoo of a cross behind his right ear and a tattoo of an elderly woman behind his left ear. The tattoos had to have been no more than about three inches each. He had huge hands which showed the wear of someone who was familiar with manual labor most of his life.
    His hazel eyes softened what could have been harder features, in spite of his smile. There was an unusual calmness about him. She had seen this man before.
    “Hello dere, miss,” he said, as he stepped back. “Do you need me to put some water on da rag? It should be pretty well dry by now. S’up to you.”
    “Whatever.” She slowly got off of the cot, while holding her head with one hand. Standing, staring, with her mouth open, she said to the gentle giant. “You… you’re not going to kill me?”
    He let out a boisterous laugh, that echoed throughout the small basement. “Oh, heavens no. I never had no intentions of harmin’ you. I do know ma boys gave you a fright. Yeah?”
    Her fear turned to anger. “Those men chasing me? They were yours?”
    “Technically, I don’t really own dem,” he returned with a chuckle. “They share my philosophy. I have te apologize for da way I got ya’ here. You have to understand that trust is not something I give out freely.”
    Sybil found it hard to contain her smirk. “You don’t trust me?”
    She watched as he headed for the wooden steps leading up to the ground level of the house. She missed seeing the steps before. It was beginning to look familiar. “Who are you that you would scare me to death just to see if I was trustworthy?”
    “I don’t get why some people have a need to repeat tings, in order the comprehend dem. I’m going to get some herbal tea. Ma mama makes the best honeysuckle and bourbon tea in Portland. Want some?”
    She stood with her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll take a cup if you answer me one question. Well, I have several, but one will do for now.”
    “Just name it,” he replied.
    “Is your name Solomon Dancer?” she asked while watching his eyes for any sign of a lie.
    He bowed his head slightly. “At your service, miss. I thought ye’d never ask.”
     
    * * *
     
    Eric was suffering as he was kept in the old sun-blackened shack. Having chills, he started to shake. He wrapped in the ragged blanket they left for him, trying to get warm. He had no idea what day of the week it was or what time during the day. He felt fearful and frustrated. “God? I don’t know how much more I can deal with this stuff. Look at me. Am I getting out of this alive or not?”
    He could have sworn he heard an evil voice say, “no.”
    He went from having chills to having hot flashes. He threw the blanket off and lay on the cement floor, which was usually cold. Now it was too hot to sleep on. Standing up, he walked around the room, wondering if he would die soon. His eyelids felt heavy and his vision became blurry, as he collapsed to the floor. The best he could do was rest and pray to see Sybil soon.

 
    Chapter Eighteen
    November 1 st
     
    Sybil sat in the wicker chair