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I keep my gun trained on the door as Trent pries it open, and as soon as he does, the three of us stagger back. “Holy fuck,” Trent groans before gagging. “There’s gotta be a window in here that opens.” He forces open the one closest to us, then the one next to it. It’s not doing much to help. What could, considering the amount of carnage contained in that small, hidden room?
“Six, seven, eight.” I’ve never seen Griffin look green like this, but then none of us could have expected the sight of eight dead bodies piled up, all of them in various states of dismemberment and mutilation. They were tortured.
The buzzing of my phone startles me. I reach for it, transfixed by the gruesome sight in front of me. Missing body parts are heaped in one corner—fingers, toes, genitals, and what looks like it might be an eyeball. What the fuck are we dealing with here?
The number shows up on my ID as unknown. I answer the call. “Who is this?”
“The ghost of threesomes past,” Natalie replies.
“Where are you?” I bark, my heart hammering, and my blood running cold.
“Stop looking for me. Everything is under control.” Her voice is strong and clear. “I mean it. Go home.”
“Where are you?” I demand.
“I’m going to fix things with my mom.”
“That’s her?” Griffin pulls on my arm, tugging the phone away from my ear. “Nat. Listen to me?—”
“I will come back, I swear,” she insists. “But I have to make things right.”
“But, Natalie, we found?—”
I shake my head at Griffin. She’s already ended the call before we could tell her what we’ve found. I have no idea exactly what it means, but I doubt she has the first clue what she’s gotten herself into.
20
NATALIE
They’ll understand. And even if they don’t, it’s not my problem. This is my journey. My mission. All I ask is that they stay the hell out of my way. It would be nice if they didn’t end up getting themselves hurt somehow. Who knows what the people Mom is working with would think if they knew people were on my trail. I’d feel guilty if anything happened to them, of course, even if I never asked them to follow me. What a surprise, a couple of stubborn men refusing to listen to reason.
Once I’ve ended the call, I stare out the windshield where an abandoned power plant stretches halfway to the sky. They definitely built them differently back in the day. Everything was grander, almost unnecessarily opulent. Now, it may as well be a crumbling castle, abandoned for who knows how long. The area around it is pretty grim, empty, overgrown, and forgotten. It fits my mood: dark and uncertain. This is most definitely the location Mom sent me, but I’m starting to wonder if it was a wise decision coming here alone. What has she led me to? There could be anything out here, hiding in waist-high weeds, crouched in shadows cast by the imposing structure.
A structure that is guarded even now. That tells me this isn’t merely an abandoned building. In front of the entrance—a gaping hole, thanks to the fact that the doors have been removed—are four black vans. Inside the building, there’s nothing but darkness from where I sit. What’s waiting? Or should I say, who?
Before I make another move, I take a photo with my phone and send it to Trent, Dallas, and Griffin. Between the three of them, they’ll be able to find it even if I give them no other information. Sort of an insurance policy in case things go tits up.
And now there’s nothing to do but what I came here for. My feet crunch loudly over broken glass as I approach, my eyes sweeping the area, searching for trouble. None has presented itself by the time I reach the entrance. I square my shoulders and remind myself Mom wouldn’t have sent me this address if I’d be in danger, then step into the darkness.
Where I am immediately descended upon by three men dressed in black, men who immediately overpower me without saying a word or even breathing hard. I should’ve known. I fight as hard as I can, kicking, twisting, and trying to use my lower center of gravity to knock them off their feet, but it’s no use. They have my number, making quick work of binding my hands behind my back and dragging me to what might have been an office at one point but is now nothing more than a dingy room with a floor whose tiles are half pried up and what looks like mold growing on the ceiling. Charming. And here I am, breathing it in.
At least they left my ankles unbound. Once I’m alone with the door locked, I work my way to my feet and pace the room dimensions. Eight by twelve. There’s enough light coming in through a grimy window that I can search for something sharp to cut through the duct tape around my wrists, one of which throbs more painfully than ever thanks to the fight. There are a few random pieces of old furniture sitting around, including an old metal desk whose corners might do the trick. I should be able to cut the tape if I’m careful not to slice my wrists while I’m at it.
