My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I take point, gun raised. At the bottom, when the corridor splits, a man in a black suit pivots toward us, reaching for his weapon. I don't give him a chance. My bullet tears through his kneecap before he can draw, and he collapses with a howl, clutching his ruined leg. I love shooting to the knee, it’s enough to cause pain and regret, and get what you need from them. I'm on him in seconds, pressing my gun against his temple.
“Where is she?” I snarl.
“Who?” he hisses in pain, his hands bloody, covering his knee.
“Dark hair, brown eyes, curvy. Tell me where she is, and I’ll let you live.” I push my gun harder against his forehead.
“The fuck do I know? These bitches all look alike. You’ll never find h—” I don’t let him finish his nonsense.
Pop
Thud
His body slumps to the floor, blood spattering against the wall, and the satisfaction gives me life. Something catches my eye as he falls—a badge with a barcode hanging from a lanyard around his neck. I crouch down, yanking it free from his corpse.
“This might be useful,” I mutter, and slip it around my neck. “Let's move.”
We keep going until we push through a set of double doors, and the scene shifts. The large room reeks of expensive cologne and spilled champagne. Plush couches surround low tables thatstill have cluttered glasses and bottles. What must have been a high-end party. Three staff members in black uniforms freeze mid-cleanup, their eyes widening, about to piss themselves. I don’t hurt innocent people, and clearly, they’re doing their job, but they don’t know the consequences behind it. I fling my weapon in their direction, not to hit them, just to make my fucking point.
“Who's in charge here? WHO?” Nothing but silence and frightened stares.
“Get the fuck out! Now!” I roar, watching them scatter like terrified mice. My patience has evaporated. My head hurts. I want this over by breakfast. By fucking breakfast and that’s five hours from now.
“This way,” I bite out, remembering the hallway on the map. We move deeper into the facility, our footsteps echoing against concrete floors until we reach the corridor from her nightmares. Red emergency lights cast an eerie glow along the hall, making the whole place look like some fucked-up vision of hell. Metal doors line both sides, with electronic scanner pads beside them. They look like fucking cells, not rooms.
My stomach churns at the thought of Sara trapped behind one of these.
“Fuck,” I mutter, approaching the first door. The keypad glows red, denying access when I try to push it open. That's when I remember the badge I ripped from the dead guard, and I hold it up to the scanner, a green light flashes. Relief swarms over me as the lock disengages with a heavy click. I breathe as I push the door open, gun raised. But the room is empty. Just a bare mattress on a metal frame, a toilet in the corner. I back out, my heart hammering, feeling sick.
I keep scanning barcode after barcode, moving to the second door and the next one, until in this one I find a girl on the bed, her back turned to me, but I know immediately, even withoutlooking at her face, that it’s not Sara. Damien is at her side in seconds, lifting her up and Mateo calls for back up to have her rescued.
My heart pounds harder with each passing second. I pull out my phone again, checking her location. The little blue dot blinks like a goose chase and she's close, a few feet away according to the GPS.
I rush toward the fourth door like a man possessed. The barcode scanner beeps, and I throw the door open. Empty. Completely empty.
Empty, empty, empty.
This can’t be happening. I promised her they wouldn’t take her. I failed her. Another person in my life I’ve failed. Joe might not be dead after all, but he felt alone enough to dig himself into a metaphorical grave.
“She's supposed to be right here,” I say, my voice filled of anger as I stare at the vacant room, my knees hitting the ground.
She trusted me.
I whirl around as I feel Damien walking up to me,
“Bro…” I shove the barcode into his hands before he can finish any sentences that may sound doomed. We know how hard it’s been to find these girls once they’re taken. The ocean is vast, yachts by the hundreds, and Velastra burned to the ground, making whichever boat she’s on, difficult to guess. His hands shake as he clutches the barcode, his eyes darting wildly around the room. His usual cool demeanor cracking as he paces the small cell.
“Damn it,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair like he might tear it out. “This is bad, Liam,” he continues, worry etched deep on his face, and I see how he cares about Sara.
“Go check all the other cells with Mateo and Riviera,” I tell him, my voice hollow. “See if there’re other girls or if Sara is somewhere else. She has to be here.”
I scan every inch of the concrete floor, the bare mattress, looking for anything—a clue, a sign, something she might have left behind. I flip the thin mattress off the metal frame, sending it crashing against the wall, and stuck between the frame and the wall, is her phone. It must’ve slid from her pocket. I laugh like a madman. I’ve gone mad, but no one has seen shit yet. I will raise hell. I will look for her until I find her, and for their sake, she better be alive.
The panic is making it hard for me to breathe. My chest constricts as if someone wrapped barbed wire around my lungs and is pulling it tight. The room spins, walls closing in as I imagine what they could do to her. Where they've taken her. If she's even still — No. I can't go there.
It’s time to make someone talk. I’m done playing nice and watching what their next move is, just to be a few steps behind. They’ve played their cards right, but I won’t let them win this race.
And Joe, where the hell is Joe? He should be here. He should help me find her.
