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“Huh, would you look at that,” he drawls, sounding entirely too smug. “Get the fuck out of the way.” He shoulders me to the side and shoves the storage boxes to the right.
Revealing a small door just big enough for an adult to walk through if they’re hunched over.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, shock stealing my voice.
“Some fuckin’ home, huh? Guess you don’t know as much about them as you think you do,” he muses, dark mirth dancing on his tongue.
I jerk my shoulder away, rage making my tongue sharp. "You don't fucking know me, asshole. And I'm getting really fucking tired of reminding you of that. I'm not diving headfirst into some dark hole with you in the back of a closet."
He bares his teeth at me in a manic sort of grin. “I’ve been patient. Bided my time. So I’m sure as fuck not going to lose you to some backwoods club feud. Not when you’re within my grasp. So get your ass in St. James’s escape hatch before those motherfuckers break down the door and we both fucking die.” He punctuates his point by curling his hand over my shoulder again and jerking me toward the open door.
It's then I hear the pounding. Great big thumps against Silas's bedroom door.
Oh fuck.
Now I’m really out of time and options. With a silent prayer for Nana Jo to look out for me, I dive into the closet. I lean into the open doorway, peering over the side and seeing nothing but darkness. A flashlight clicks on over my head, and as much as I don’t understand who this asshole is or why he’s here or spewing half the things he is, I decide I’m going to be grateful for the small sliver of hope he’s given me. The soft yellow light illuminates a silver ladder in what looks like some kind of metal tunnel.
I reach behind me and yank the flashlight from his hands. He grunts something too low for me to hear as he steps into the closet, pulling the closet door closed behind him. The lock sounds ominous in this confined space, but I don’t have the luxury of overthinking right now. I spin around on my knees, tucking my gun into the back of my jean shorts and start my descent, gripping the cold metal rungs of the ladder with trembling hands.
The passage is narrower than I thought it would be, but still big enough to accommodate Nova’s broad shoulders. The air is damp in here, stale and sort of musty like an unused basement.
“You’re not claustrophobic, so stop fucking wasting time and get moving,” he growls from above me, his voice like razor-wire over my already-fried senses. “One little lock isn’t going to stop them. And it’s only a matter of time before they find your little boyfriend’s secret hatch.”
I ignore everything he's saying, shove the words and sentiment somewhere outside of my body to deal with later. When I'm on the other side of this.
If I survive.
My hands start sweating, my grip loosening every few rungs. Adrenaline floods my system in a desperate attempt to ward off the inevitable shakes that happen when it dissipates. My heart kicks inside my chest as I near the bottom, and I continue ignoring whatever this asshole is grumbling at me about. Any minute now, my focus is going to shift from getting away from the assholes on motorcycles with guns to getting away from the asshole above me with a gun.
And a fucking hunting knife.
I shiver at the reminder. Of all the things I could’ve done today, I hope this right here, climbing into a metal tunnel with a bonafide psychopath, isn’t the worst decision I make.
My gaze travels up from his scuffed boots to the faded symbol on the back of his worn leather jacket. His dark jeans and black boots make him blend in with the other men on this compound, but something about this expression sets him apart.
As my feet hit the ground, I spot a gray metal door to the right. It’s not your typical door though, because of course, this secret-hatch thing couldn’t be this easy. This door is more like a hidden panel, no traditional doorknob or even a keypad. Just a small rectangular hole beneath the curved handle close to the center of the door.
Dread coils in my gut like a pissed-off snake. If this door doesn’t open or it’s locked from the other side, then I’m worse off than I was in Silas’s bedroom. I exhale a breath at the same time he comes up behind me.
He reaches around me and yanks something from the wall above my head. He pushes it into the rectangular hole and grabs the handle. “If I would’ve known you were such a coward, I might’ve rethought my plan, Evangeline. But don’t worry, princess, I’m going to help you.”
3
EVANGELINE
He says help you the same way my mother offers a compliment. It’s laced with poison and ill-intent. And it’s precisely this moment I realize the shift happens.
Every hair on the back of my neck rises to attention, and I shuffle to the side. If he wants to be the first person walking into the unknown on the other side of this door, that's fine by me. Shouting echoes down from above, and I angle the flashlight toward my feet, making the beam a small circle.
He snatches it from my hand without a word, but I assume he’s throwing me a harsh glare. As if his emotions bear any weight on me. The metal door opens with a small whine, like the hinges haven’t been used in a while.
He steps through the doorway, and I follow behind him, urgency pounding inside my blood as the shouting gets louder and louder. Or maybe that's the tunnel playing tricks on my hearing. It feels like everything echoes in here.
I try to look around him, but all I can tell is we’re in some kind of underground tunnel with metal walls with wooden beams every few feet. It’s tall enough for him to walk through without hunching over, but it’s not wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. Unless one of them was a child.
Emotion wraps itself around my heart and squeezes fiercely at the thought of Hunter. I can only hope that Dixie got him far enough away from this in time.
I’m giving myself whiplash with these mental gymnastics. I went from thinking I’m definitely going to meet my end to finding the smallest glimmer of hope to crippling worry in three minutes flat.
