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For all our confidence that we’ll get to them, I can’t help but swallow a gulp of trepidation for what our girls could be enduring even though I know I shouldn’t go there. It will only serve to muddy my vision of executing the rescue.
My eyes close as I try to center myself. Ivy is a force. Smart. Well trained. And Celeste is shrewd and cunning. She killed a guy with a fucking hairdryer, for Christ’s sake. They’ve got this.
But what if they don’t? I can’t lose either of them.
“Fuck!” I smash my fist into the ceiling.
I just found you, Ace. I’m coming, baby girl.
CELESTE
The sky is a dreary gray, clouds pouting with a shapeless droop, sun retreating into hiding. We step out of the van, and the crackling squeak of boots on the gravelly concrete is deafening. Even the lonely chirping bird is chanting a solemn dirge from the haunted forest behind us. Like the earth has stilled for us to march toward whatever lies in wait within this grim warehouse. The modern-day walk the plank of pirates.
Ivy and I are both barefoot and disheveled in our tattered designer spoils, not the most conducive attire for escape, especially with the prick and sting of sharp pebbles stabbing into our soles and the cold wind enveloping us. We both kept quiet for the rest of the ride to see what information we could garner. It bodes well for us that they think we’re stupid and defenseless chicks.
It makes me think of chess. I won the Ohio State Chess Championship when I was fifteen. My greatest weapon was that no one feared me. My curves were already well developed. I didn’t look like a child prodigy; I looked like a sultry fluke.
Women in chess are rare. Maybe because it’s not glamorous—not a skill parents want to point their girls to. It’s downright nerdy. I’m no grandmaster champion, but I still earned some accolades. My grandfather was a prominent US senator at the time, so my achievement made national news. My fifteen minutes of fame before our world imploded.
All of that to say, underestimating us is a mistake—at least, I hope it is. I watched our surroundings, although I don’t know the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, so that was little help. The warehouse they chose is at least a mile from anything else from what I could discern.
But the most helpful tidbit came when they reported out to their leader, someone named Silas. He won’t be arriving for an hour or two. He’s likely waiting to be sure everything goes smoothly. That means we have time.
My eyes flit around the warehouse when we enter, eager to find something of use. All I uncover is a new dose of terror, my pulse thrumming a daunting tune to match my tromping pace. So many armed men are convened here. I’m suddenly questioning the likelihood of leaving this place alive. Even if our guys alert KORT, how long will it take to coordinate an ambush? How long for these guerrillas to realize I don’t know anything?
There are boxes stacked throughout. My guess is either guns or drugs. This group is no joke. I never asked Liam how he and Gage obtained information from those guys a few weeks ago. God, I hope we don’t get a firsthand demonstration on torture tactics.
My gut wrenches, stomach acid lurching into my esophagus and burning my throat. I’ve gagged on my own vomit too many times today.
They lead us through a room in the back corner, which dips into another room that has a cell, complete with a bucket that I’m guessing is the en suite. Looks like we’re not their first prisoners. A chill skitters up my spine.
What happened to the others?
Maybe it will be worse if they let us live. I have a feeling they’d sell us into a truly horrific nightmare. I can’t go there.
Once they shove us inside the cage, the lock clicks, and the guy in charge of guarding us stands just beyond the threshold of our room with the door cracked.
My head whips toward Ivy. “What the hell were you thinking?” I whisper-shout. “What about F-bomb?”
She smirks at Ty’s ridiculous nickname for her daughter, knowing I couldn’t use anything telling. “I was thinking of that,” she insists, dragging me down to curl up with her against the wall, both of us flourishing goose bumps from the cold floor and drafty air. “Some families sing Christmas carols and bicker over the last piece of pie. We make enough pie for everyone to have their own, fight over it anyway, and risk our lives for each other on a random Monday. She’s not growing up in a Hallmark movie. I want her to know that I love her enough to do more than just bake the damn pie. That my love isn’t afraid of scary places.”
I bite my lip as my fingers dive into my matted hair, welling tears pricking my eyes. “What if—” What if something happens to you? What if we don’t get out of here? I’d rather die than lose you or have Felicity deprived of such an unbelievable mom.
“Wells will come,” she says confidently. “He’d chase me to the ends of the earth.” Her eyebrows shoot up to the industrial ceiling. “I’m guessing Liam has promised you something similar.”
I nod, wondering if this was the type of situation he’d envisioned. Is this the non-fairy-tale life he was painting for me? One where I was crouched twenty feet away from a piss bucket and wishing I were a mouth-breather? “He said he’s like the sunrise. No matter how dark it gets, he’ll always show up.”
She clutches her heart like she’s overwhelmed by the romantic overture of that vow. Like we’re not currently half dressed and locked in a cell. “Trust it, Lettie. They’ll keep their promises.”
“So, we wait?” I ask.
Not like we have other options, but I hate being backed into a corner or relying on someone else. As unfamiliar as this situation is, that’s a common theme for me. No matter what life I choose, it seems I end up traveling on someone else’s path.
Except Ty handed me the oversight of the shelter. Maybe it wouldn’t be that way with them.
“For now.” She glances around the room. “How long was the drive?”
“About an hour.”
