“You can work on those coolers with the others while we’regone,” Tony said as he headed toward the door. “Don’t slack off. Razor will keep an eye on everything.”
“Literally,” I muttered.
A laugh burst from Tony. “You’re an ass. Don’t let him hear you say that, or he’ll remove your eye.”
When Tony left, I tucked the flash drive into my sock and rose from the chair. My fingers felt dirty and sticky, and I wiped them off on my jeans, but the sensation remained. Victor had gotten wealthy from the organ black market. I didn’t even know this business existed until I was forced to extract my first organ, wash it, and prepare it for the buyer. I stared at my hands, feeling the atrocity I’d committed.
It’s not your fault. You did what was necessary to survive.
I looked toward the other room where three terrified boys needed me. They were like my younger brothers, looking up to me for reassurance even though there were times I was uncertain too. Godfrey, Hudson, and Timber hadn’t crossed over to the dark side like Tony had. Like me, they still clung to hope.
I was about to go see my friends when Razor stepped in, filling the room with his muscular form. He was my age with chin-length dark hair that was tied into a low ponytail at the back. He wore a gray T-shirt over leather pants that matched the leather eyepatch covering his right eye. The left side of his face was deformed from an accident he never discussed. I didn’t know his real name. When I first met him, I cringed at the sight of him. But despite his deformity, there was something genuine about him. Razor and I had formed a bond over the years through art—something I’d lost for a while. He’d taught me how to tattoo. We’d gotten closer this past year after he returned from a medical facility that treated Victor’s men under the radar. Razor had taken a bullet for Victor when his enemy sent an assassin.
Razor was responsible for tattooing a cross formed by twostems of black roses on everyone within the organization. Some had it on their faces, others on their fingers, arms, or backs. Razor had his on his left forearm, and mine was on my right bicep. Maybe Victor had a twisted version of religion, or maybe he wanted to create his own. He had offices in other states, but I didn’t know anyone outside of this complex.
Right now, Victor was inside his office, which was adjacent to the complex.
“How’s your back?” Razor asked.
“Not bad.” I stretched from side to side, trying to ease the soreness from the art he’d etched into my back three days ago. I’d drawn a composition of things I loved and didn’t want to forget; Razor had turned my drawings into tattoos. Though I didn’t see those tattoos like the ones on my arms, chest, and abdomen, I knew they were there. Moving those bricks last night had increased the discomfort.
Razor glanced at the door where Tony had left, then looked at me. “Tonight. It’s time.”
“Really?” My heart leaped, wondering if it was a dream. “Victor’s death? Our escape?”
The map to my escape was etched on my forearm, allowing me to reference it easily.
Razor’s single blue eye intensified as he nodded.
“Most of the men are leaving with Victor. It’s a big meeting that involves a lot of powerful people. Something about a multimillion-dollar construction project. There won’t be many guards here. I’ll deal with the ones stationed at the main gate.”
For the past six months, I had been planting homemade bombs in various sections of the underground complex, including a few areas outside of here. I didn’t get far, so Razor hid the other explosives for me since he had full access to the under-and above-ground properties.
“Go tell the boys,” he said. “We have to act fast.”
“Why don’t you come with us?”
“I’ve got some unfinished business. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll come back for you.”
“Don’t.” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “Too risky. I’ll find you when the time is right.”
This was our plan: We would wait for the men to take Hawthorne out of the secluded complex in the woods. They’d take the cars on the dirt road to a bridge where a booth with guards would open a gate for them to cross the bridge onto a paved road leading to the main road. Explosives were hidden along the dirt road, under the bridge, at the gate, and in sections of the paved road. Their cars would be destroyed at any of these given points when the hidden sensors were triggered. The sixty-foot drop from the bridge to the rocky stream wouldn’t help them either. It didn’t matter when, where, or how they died; I just didn’t want them to live.
Three hours later, Razor had turned off the cameras and security systems. I stared out the basement window, waiting for the three cars to leave. The sun had set, darkening the area. This was my only chance—our chance—to escape this godforsaken place. In order to ensure Victor didn’t come for us, I had to eliminate him.
“I can’t believe we’re escaping,” said thirteen-year-old Godfrey, tears gleaming in his eyes.
“I hope he explodes.” Timber pursed his lips. He was the same age as Godfrey.
“Me too.” Twelve-year-old Hudson looked at me with conviction.
These boys had been kidnapped and brought here last year. The horror they experienced would forever change their lives. But they were still young, so there was hope that they could move beyond this with enough time and care.
When the cars drove away, the sensor lights in the driveway turned off. A few minutes later, the first explosion erupted and rattled the underground complex. Electricity flickered as we stepped into the tunnel.
I looked at the boys. “Follow close, okay? Don’t step on the wrong area.” I gestured to the ground where hidden wires could trigger explosives.
