Page 85 of Dreadful

“Love you too.” Lola squeezes me tighter. “Be safe, Bells.”

“You too.”

I hold on for another second before letting her go.

Lola heads for the door, and I watch through the windows until she climbs into my car and pulls out of the parking lot.

Then I turn back to Cruz. “Ready to go?”

He squeezes my hand. “Almost. First we’ve got an errand.”

“We do?”

He throws his arm over my shoulders, tugging me into him as we leave the café today. “We’re going on an adventure.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

BELLAMY

The desert blurs past the window, a bleached expanse of cracked earth and brittle scrub brush stretching toward a sky gone pale with heat. An old rock song I recognize plays low on the radio, the gritty guitar riff a familiar thread in the silence.

“Are you ever planning on telling me where we’re going?”

I turn my head to study him. One hand rests loosely at the bottom of the steering wheel, the other draped over the center console like he’s just out for a casual drive. His shoulders are low, his jaw easy. I’ve seen Cruz look exactly this relaxed right before he slides a blade between someone’s ribs.

“I thought you liked a little adventure,” Cruz murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting.

A few minutes later, he turns into the cracked asphalt lot of a self-storage facility. Rows of beige corrugated metal buildings stretch beneath the flat afternoon light, separated by narrow lanes just wide enough for a car to idle beside a unit. Cruz drives past them all, following a faded sign toward a larger structure at the very back of the property.

“We’re at a storage unit?”

He hums a little under his breath. “Looks that way.”

My brows dig together as I glance toward him. “Whose?”

He parks smoothly and kills the engine. “Let’s find out, hm?”

I climb out after him, squinting against the glare while Cruz retrieves a small black duffel from behind his seat. He slings it over one shoulder and holds out his hand for me.

I link our fingers together. “What are we doing here?”

“You ask a lot of questions, baby girl,”

“Isn’t that what you like about me?”

He flashes me a quick, sharp grin as he pulls the door open. “One in a long list.”

I’m grinning when I follow him inside. A wave of chilled, stale air washes over me. The building is quiet, our footsteps echoing around us. Long fluorescent tubes above buzz faintly as we move down a corridor flanked by rows of identical red metal doors, each marked only by number.

“What number are we looking for?” I keep my voice low on instinct, and I’m not sure if it’s the almost oppressive quiet—or the impression that we’re about to do some light breaking and entering.

“Three-twenty-two,” he murmurs as he stops. He crouches in front of a heavy padlock and pulls out a slim tension wrench from the duffel next to him.

The back of my neck prickles, awareness washing over me. I sweep the hallway on either side of us, quickly checking for cameras—or people.

“Please tell me you lost your key.”

Cruz works the lock with a final, soft click. He straightens, the heavy door groaning on its track as he pulls it open. “Sure, baby girl. If that makes you feel better.”