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With the men so much closer now, Zade doesn’t risk moving or saying a damn word, just simply stands there as I fall to pieces in his strong arms. With every step the men take toward us, my heart races faster, and I grip Zade’s wrist, my nails digging into his skin.
They move right in front of us and my eyes remain locked on Easton’s, willing myself to melt deeper into Zade, terrified they’ll notice us. I hold my breath as they take another step, and despite only a few seconds passing, it feels like an eternity. They move past us and I swallow hard, relief pounding through my veins.
Only one of them stops and turns back, his brows furrowed as he tries to search for whatever made him pause in the darkness. My eyes widen, terror claiming me as the other stops with him, looking back to try and figure out what’s caught his companion’s attention.
Easton’s eyes remain locked on mine and he cringes, knowing exactly what he has to do. He doesn’t strike me as the type who would usually hesitate, and it has me wondering if his cringe is purely for my benefit—not wanting me to have to see what he’s about to do.
I feel Dalton’s arm flex beside me, preparing for a fight and I can’t help but remember how he gets off on the violence. Both he and Easton step out from the walls, barely giving the men a second to realize what’s going on. They don’t even get a chance to react when Dalton and Easton step in behind them, grip their heads from behind, and give a devastating twist.
The violent cracks of their spines have bile rising in my throat, but before I can scream or whimper, they each drop heavily to the ground. “Come on,” Zade says, not giving a second thought for the two men who were killed for walking by. His hand falls to my waist, pushing me back out into the center of the corridor as his other hand drops away from my mouth, allowing me to take a proper breath.
I go to look over my shoulder, but Easton steps in behind me, blocking my view of the dead bodies. “Just run,” he tells me, shaking his head, regret heavy in his eyes.
Zade doesn’t allow me a chance to respond before he’s pulling me along, tugging hard on my wrist just as he was before. My body goes numb and I just run, not yet immune to death the same way the guys are.
Sawyer and Dalton run up ahead of us, checking the tunnels are clear, and I realize we must be getting closer to populated areas. I’ve been down in the tunnels once before, and it didn’t take nearly this long to get where I was going. The thought leaves me wondering just how many tunnels there are.
We run for fifteen uninterrupted minutes beneath the beautiful town of Faders Bay—the place I had hoped to call home once again. Now, I can’t get away fast enough.
Another gate appears ahead just before Zade pulls me up next to him, and we settle into a brisk walk, the boys crowding me as if to obstruct me from view. Sawyer pushes through the gate and we walk into an open area with a few random men lingering around, sipping on their expensive whiskey while watching a girl up on a stage. The room is similar to the main bar I’d walked into the night I decided it was a good idea to follow the boys here, only this one seems . . . darker. As if the girl up on stage knows that her performance isn’t going to finish there, that these men will have her any way they see fit. One at a time or all together. Passing her around like a used toy. And yet, judging by the excitement in her eyes, she seems more than okay with it.
We get a few curious stares, and Zade receives the occasional head nod, but no one looks deeper. No one sees the escaped prisoner hidden between them with all their attention focused on the dancing girl.
With no one the wiser, we slip through the exit and into another tunnel, this one taking us up to street level until we’re pushing through a heavy door and walking out into a back alley behind some dirty bar.
It takes me a moment to catch my bearings, and I tug my wrist out of Zade’s death grip, surprised when he actually releases it. The boys all turn to look at me—as if waiting for me to explode or have some kind of meltdown. “Just . . . just give me a second,” I tell them, bracing my hands against my thighs and doubling over, fighting back tears as the wild emotions rock through my body. Anger, fury, betrayal, fear, relief. I don’t know what to focus on or how to feel. All that matters is Zade DeVil. This is all on him.
