Page 82 of Boneyard HEA

A fucking car is driving below me toward the house. Their car, not a van. They must’ve left on the smaller road, before we set up. Only so much we can cover without a full team. If the charge is on the door they use, we’re busted.

Our timing sucks.

Rafael is down there. Fuck. I hope he isn’t seen. I’m clear, I think. I was above the car, and now they’ve swung behind the structure, so the house shields me from them.

The sound, though, the sound could betray us.

I hit the concrete roof as softly as I can, running across the flat space, hauling in the chute. It billows slightly past the edge, until it’s puffing out above where the car has gone. I haul faster.

I bundle it up, tuck it into the pack, and head for the roof pergola, where a door leads down into the house. There I crouch to plant a charge next to the lock, before backing away to wait for the sign. It’s likely to be alarmed, so once I enter, I have to go fast and shoot and do more of that praying.

Two stories. Bottom story seems likely to be where they have them. No basement as far as we know. Stairs are central.

We don’t even know how many there are.

I look at my watch.

I should’ve taken a week to check the place. Should’ve would’ve, if this were seven years ago.

But these two are friends.

Risk is relative, and Karsten told me they generally kill their captives. Generally, is a word that should never be used about murder.

For two years, Karsten knew of this, and he let them play on.

My gloved right hand twitches on the pistol. My left waits, unmoved, to trigger the charge. Half of me is still calm. I survey my gear, the Beretta pistol, the MK 18 rifle, my clothing, combat boots, nothing untied or flapping? I’m rechecking it’s all correct and in place.

My heart winds down to a regular thump-thump-thump, and I think backward in time and sink into the mindset of El Loco. No dejes que el mal te Venza. Mata a los malos.

I check my watch and contact Rafael. “We good?”

“Yes. Almost there. Begin synchronized countdown.”

29

Aaron

They have the three of us kneeling in a row in the fun room. Myself, Juniper, then Georgia.

Zasha has center stage in the middle of the room and seems to fancy himself a warrior, for he holds a spear angled out the side, with its base propped on the floor. Karsten and Shawn stand near Georgia. With his jacket discarded, I can see the gun Zasha carries in a shoulder holster.

Their usual bag of weird sex gear lies near the wall, opened, with dildos, masks and other paraphernalia spilling from the zip.

With Karsten also present and smugly observing, the situation has become shameful. He knows what I’ve been brought down to, how I’ve been forced to obey them.

Shame? Really?

I’m a damn shallow man. They’re letting me go soon, not Juniper and not Georgia.

Beside me, Juniper is trembling and pale, her hands cuffed behind her, same as me, with the metal handcuffs they seem to favor. Handcuffs are illegal in Australia. Somehow, I doubt they care.

Get angry. Get scared. Anything but shame. Fuck shame, fuck Karsten. If I do get released…

I lower my head. I’ll be travelling back with him, and how will I stop myself killing him on the way?

Zasha is pacing before us with that spiked metal rod in hand. The butt scrapes along the floor, making a tangy metal ringing sound. I thought it was a mere prop, but this is a heavy implement I’ve not seen before. It’s nearly as tall as him. The point gleams and looks wickedly sharp.

“Boys and girls! We have a new man who wants to sample you. Only the girls, sadly. Not you, boy.” He smiles at me.