Five
Asia
I thought of myself as strong, but couldn’t deny the comfort Jackson’s presence gave me.
Which told me everything I needed to know.
Because this dangerous stranger was my only protection.
Protection I knew I needed as I studied the terror before me.
I felt his gaze on me and looked up. “Let’s go. You slow me down, you get in my way, you’re on your own,” he grated out in a barely audible whisper .
Did he mean it?
I studied him, searching for a hint that he was bluffing and finding nothing.
Worst of all?
I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
He started moving, and apparently my choice was made.
I was barely half a step behind him and that was still too far.
Distant screams filled my ears.
The acrid stench of blood hit me anew with every breath.
As terrifying as Jack was, I realized I wanted to be even closer.
But, instead of trying to crawl into his skin, I settled for gripping my pipe tighter.
My palms were slick with sweat, but the weight of the pipe comforted me as we moved down the hall.
Or it did until I saw the streaks of blood on the floor in shockingly neat lines.
I slowed, gaping at the scene.
What I saw hit me all at once.
Claw marks.
The remnants of someone fighting for their life with everything they had .
I finally looked away when I saw what I realized were bloody fingernails dotting the formerly pristine, stark-white floor.
My gaze collided with Jack’s, and despite everything, I felt a moment’s comfort.
But only a moment’s.
Another sound, this one closer than the screams that I could tell where far away, drew my attention.
I broke Jack’s gaze and looked toward the sound.
The… thing —that was the only word I could think of to describe what I saw—approaching us had the shape of a man.
It wore clothes, the familiar navy-blue canvas pants and white polo shirt still neatly pressed, even though it was covered in blood.
It had arms, legs, a head…
Was wearing the heavy black work boots that gave him two extra inches of height that he claimed even when he wasn’t wearing them.
It was Jorge.
“Jorge!” I called.
I barely had a chance to take in his milky-white eyes before Jackson was in motion.
The pipe swiped through the air, landing with a savage crunch that made me worry that his arm would wrench out of its socket.
It didn’t, but the dull thud of the pipe against Jorge’s head left a deep indentation. He jerked from the force of the blow, but kept moving.
“Stop!” I yelled, reaching for Jack’s arm, which was poised to swing again.
He paused, then stilled me with a gaze that chilled me to my core.
Made it impossible for me to move.
All I could do was watch as Jack hit Jorge again.
This time skin and bone cracked and then exploded.
Pinkish-white flesh—Jorge’s brain—spilled out.
He stopped then, almost like someone had turned off the lights, and slumped down into a heap.
Dead.
Because Jack killed him.
“Jorge…” I whispered, my eyes cloudy with tears as I stared at the body of my friend, a nice man with a wife and four grandchildren that he doted on, the man who’d finally shared his empanada recipe after years of nagging—who now lay a ravaged husk.
And I was trapped with the man who’d killed him.
Asia
“Move!” Jack said, his voice low, urgent.
I blinked, dazed as I stared up at him.
He pulled me to my feet and dragged me down the hall.
My feet moved on autopilot, but I heard something behind us, and looked back.
Saw shapes, and heard sounds like those that had been near the elevator.
It struck me then, those shapes looked like people.
But they weren’t human.
Not anymore.
Terror so acute, I’d never felt anything like it, held me in its grip.
This moment made being in the elevator feel like celestial paradise.
If given the choice, I would have secreted myself in the elevator and never come out .
But that wasn’t an option.
I was here now, and as the moment stretched, I realized I was on a precipice.
I didn’t have a name for what those things were.
But they were getting closer.
And they meant death.
Mine.
Jackson’s.
Everyone’s.
No .
I’d told myself I wouldn’t die here.
I would keep my word.
The fear that had frozen me in place cracked and then shattered when the lights switched off.
Before I could stop, before I could think, I screamed.
And then his hand was on my throat.
The weight of it pressing against my skin was an unspoken promise.
I didn’t need a reminder of what he could do to me.
The way he paused there for those long seconds gave one anyway.
Then we moved again .
The hallway felt narrower than before.
Every breath ripped through me as I struggled to match his pace.
His fingers bit into my wrist, grip so tight I worried my bones would splinter.
He wanted me to understand I was breakable.
And the most vile part?
The way my stomach flipped at his touch.
The traitorous heat coiling between my thighs.
I wanted to scrape that feeling from my skin.
Hated him for planting it there.
He stopped so abruptly, I slammed into his back.
A whimper clawed up my throat before I could choke it down.
He didn’t flinch.
Just stood there, rigid, listening.
Then he spun so fast, it sent an icy panic racing down my spine.
His hands slammed into my shoulders, pushing me back into the wall.
I gasped, the sound like an explosion.
He snarled. “Quiet. ”
The sound rolled out of his chest both threat and command.
Something slick and awful twisted through me again, and I squeezed my thighs tight like I could smother it there.
Like I could hide it from him.
But there was nowhere to hide.
His gaze dropped to my pulse, which thumped frantically against my throat.
He pressed, touching me like he had the right to.
Like he dared me to pull away.
I looked around wildly, searching for rescue that some part of me knew wouldn’t come.
“Look at me.”
God, I didn’t want to.
Didn’t want him to see how close I was to breaking.
But I did anyway, locking my eyes on his.
“You’re scared,” he said, his tone rich with amusement.
Shame wasn’t the only thing that hit me.
That shame was tinged with a different kind of heat.
A heat that only intensified when he leaned in, his lips close enough to brush my ear .
“Keep that pretty mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.”
Defiance tried to rear its head. I met his gaze, and he kept his eyes on mine waiting for my surrender.
Surrender that came far too quickly.
I saw the instant he recognized it, looking away when I saw the flash of a satisfied smile.
“Now move.”
Before I could speak, he walked again.
Dragging me deeper into the darkness.
Then I heard Jackson’s voice—quiet but urgent.
“We need a place to hunker down,” he said through gritted teeth.
I again moved into action without conscious thought, shifting away from Jackson and toward the bathrooms I knew were up ahead.
His sharp jerk of my arm stopped me.
“This way,” I whispered urgently.
He peered in the darkness behind us, focused on those footsteps that only got louder, so I grabbed his hand, his large, callused palm incongruously comforting in the terror of this moment .
He glanced back at me, the tension in his expression softening for a split second, and then he focused again.
I didn’t see them , but I heard them and knew they were close.
Decided that I would trust Jack to handle that while I got us where we were going.
We were at a near run when I turned the corner sharply and moved down the hall to a pair of double doors.
I crashed into the metal door. The unyielding handle cut into my side but the door didn’t give more than a few inches.
“No,” I mumbled, my voice low but frantic as I scrambled to open the door.
“Watch out,” Jackson said, his voice urgent but still calm.
I stepped aside as he ran full force and kicked the door open.
That shouldn’t have happened.
These metal doors were reinforced, and he kicked through like they were nothing.
He must have seen the surprise on my face.
“I hit the weak spot,” he said quickly as he pulled me toward the door. “Any other spot, and I would have dislocated my hip, but this model is weak at the lock. Hit that spot, and it’s like a warm knife through butter.”
I followed him, marveling at the kind of skill he displayed and feeling lucky that I was trapped with him.
But now wasn’t the time to be enamored with Jackson’s knowledge or to count on my own luck.
We needed to move.
“Just down this way. To the right,” I said.
The moans and steps quieted as we went down the hall, so Jackson got in front of me, apparently deciding that what was behind us didn’t matter as much as what might be ahead.
The moans were awful, but the quiet only added to my unease. This felt like a horror movie, and with every second, I waited for the villain—or, God forbid, another one of those things that were once a friend to pop out and attack.
At least there was a little bit of light now.
And it was only a little bit.
The hallway was lit by wall sconces placed every thirty feet or so that didn’t really illuminate the path but managed to cast creepy-looking shadows everywhere .
But at least it wasn’t totally dark.
“Here,” I whispered, stopping Jackson with a hand on his arm.
He stopped beside me, staring skeptically at the tattered-looking fabric that, at first glance, didn’t even look like a door.
For reasons I couldn’t fathom, this wing of the building had fabric accent walls made out of the same carpet that covered the floor.
The height of seventies decor, I guessed, but I always thought it looked sad and bizarre.
When I looked at it now, I felt relief.
I moved a swatch of the carpet aside and turned the inset notch that served as a doorknob. I rushed in, Jackson hot on my heels.
“Wait,” he said, the firm command in his voice brooking no defiance.
I stayed still as he stalked the small suite that contained a conference room, a bank of security cameras, a storage closet, and a bathroom.
The guards and facilities crew had taken over the space because it was so out of the way because they’d said there was less chance that some wayward soul would accidentally stumble in.
I hoped that belief was true .
Jack looked around.
First, he took in the pressboard conference table that was stained with cherrywood varnish that made it look even cheaper than it was.
Then the bulky wood chairs painted with the same varnish with threadbare burgundy cushions.
He walked deeper, past the brown metal filing cabinets that the guys used to store snacks and drinks and the two-cup coffeepot, to the small bathroom that was old but surprisingly clean.
He walked back and stood next to the conference table again.
“This isn’t the garage,” Jackson finally said.
His words were calculated, but I heard the irritation, almost anger bubbling beneath the surface.
“Yeah,” I said. “Slight change of plans.”
He furrowed his brow. “We had plan A and plan B. What is this?”
I smiled. “Umm, plan C?”
He didn’t look amused, and given the circumstances, I couldn’t blame him.
“Those…people,” I started, turning my mind back to the most pressing thing facing us, the one thing I’d rather not think about, “were bl ocking the way. If we’d kept going, we would have gotten trapped at a dead end or caught by them.
“Plus,” I continued, walking past Jackson and the conference table to one of the closed doors, “there are monitors here. Maybe we can see what’s going on.”
Jackson didn’t exactly look impressed when I glanced at him, but he was intrigued. I opened the door to reveal twelve black-and-white monitors stacked in four rows of three.
“Black and white?” Jackson said as he came to stand behind me.
His closeness was comforting, but instead of acknowledging that, I shrugged. “County government. What can I say?”
He didn’t respond, his gaze focused on the screens.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to look.
No, that was a lie.
I definitely didn’t want to look.
I did anyway.
And was glad these were cheap, grainy monitors.
I couldn’t have taken the scene before me in HD .
“Have you ever seen anything like this,” I whispered, ripping my gaze away from the screen and to Jackson.
He was silent, his eyes impassive as he stared at the screens.
And then his gaze met mine.
He uttered the most chilling word I’d ever heard.
“No.”