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“Relax,” King’s tone is gentle, a complete contradiction to our surroundings.
“Are you––”
King’s fingers tighten on my leg. “I hope you’re not about to ask if I brought you here to kill you, because that would really hurt my feelings.”
I snap my mouth shut, because yeah, this seems like the kind of place you’d take someone to kill them, and that is what I was going to ask.
In the dark, I can barely make out King’s eyes, but I don’t have to see them to know the color.
He leans closer. “Trust me.”
This feels like a test. But I’m going to pass it, because I do trust him.
“Okay,” I nod my head.
Ahead of us, the solid metal door on the front of the building swings open. And Nero steps out, backlit with a dim, yellowish light
King gives my leg a final squeeze before he shoves his door open and climbs out.
I try to follow him, but my door doesn’t open, reminding me I’m still locked in.
When King circles around the front of the vehicle, I see Nero make a hand motion, which King responds to by holding one finger up, in ahold ongesture.
Then he takes the final steps and pulls open my door.
Trust.
I place my hand in his offered one and let him help me down, keeping his hand in mine as we approach the building.
The same ballet flats I wore the night we met crunch over the gravel, the noise mixing with King’s much larger footprints, and filling the silence of the night.
With the light behind him, I can’t make out Nero’s expression until we’re a couple of feet away. And to say he looks surprised would be an understatement.
Okay, so definitely not some sort ofKill Savannahplan.
Nero’s brows are as high as they can go. “Uh…”
“Is it ready?” King asks, ignoring the look on his friend’s face.
“Yeah,it’sready.” Nero’s eyes slide over to me, then back to King. “What the hell––”
King pulls me forward with him, interrupting Nero. “Good.”
Nero puts his hands up, stepping backward through the doorway. “I’m not gonna ask.”
Okay, so not murder, but whatever is about to happen is enough to stun Nero.
That can’t be a good sign.
It takes my eyes a moment to adjust when we enter the building, but when they do, I can see that the interior matches the exterior. Dingy. And it’s full of random crap. A pile of buckets. A stack of pallets. A cracked counter with an old cash register.
Everything looks frozen in time, like it hasn’t been touched in years. Maybe a decade.
Except for the path of footsteps worn into the dust, leading from the front door to––I swallow––the pair of cellar doors that have been left open in the center of the room.
Nero walks to the edge of the hole in the floor and lets out a quick whistle.
I grip King’s hand harder when footsteps echo from the cement stairs leading up from below ground.
