Hannah freezes beside me.
Then her eyes widen.
“Oh my God…”
“What?”
She stares downward toward the tile floor.
“There are rooms under the nursery.”
Wonderful.
Just absolutely wonderful.
The tile beneath us suddenly rattles.
A tiny hand appears through the narrow gap between two old floor panels.
My entire chest tightens violently.
A little boy’s voice trembles beneath the floor.
“Please don’t leave…”
Hannah drops to her knees instantly despite the gunfire.
“No no no—baby, it’s okay—we’re here—”
She starts clawing at the rusted floor latch with shaking hands.
I kneel beside her immediately and rip the steel handle upward.
The hidden panel jerks open—
—and cold air rushes out from below.
Tiny underground holding cells.
Jesus Christ.
At least six children stare upward through darkness beneath the nursery floor.
Drugged.
Terrified.
One little girl can’t be older than four.
Another child still has an IV attached to his arm.
Something murderous tears loose inside me.
“Russ!” I shout.
“More kids below us!”
His expression goes deadly instantly.
