Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Diana
Leaving Eddie and Teddy at the kennel broke my heart a little. I left our phone numbers with the kennel, and I left my parents’ information as well.
God forbid if Dragon and I don’t make it back.
That would kill my parents. So I just won’t think about it. This is nothing compared to what my father and brothers have been through in their lives.
Dragon and I don’t talk much on the drive. What is there to say? We both know we may be getting into something we won’t get out of.
We know so little about this cult. About the compound where they have Griffin. Or do they? We have no assurance that she’s there. We only know that Alayna and her team found the compound and are going in with SWAT.
Dragon has the address plugged into the GPS, and as the miles dwindle, my nerves skitter beneath my flesh.
This is some kind of secret society that may possibly do human sacrifices. What if Griffin—after we’ve come so close—has been sacrificed?
What if we can’t find her?
After all she’s been through…
God, I can’t go there. And I can’t voice these concerns to Dragon because I don’t want to worry him. Besides, he’s no doubt thought of every contingency himself.
“We’ll find her,” Dragon says, his eyes glued to the road.
It’s not a response to my unvoiced concerns, but it may as well be. His voice is firm, exuding a confidence that he probably doesn’t feel but wants me to.
I give him a small smile—the best I can do.
The landscape changes gradually as the sun rises high. The dry plains of New Mexico stretch as far as I can see. The compound is nestled somewhere amidst all this—an ugliness hidden within beauty.
Electric tension surges in the air as we approach our destination. I feel it crackling through Dragon’s knuckles on the wheel, see it in the furrowing of his brow.
This is a man who has lived through hell and may well be going into it again.
And he’s doing it gladly. For Griffin. The only family he has left.
The compound looms into view, just as Alayna described—unassumingly ordinary. The sun beats down on what looks like a simple weatherbeaten ranch house.
No police cars that I can see, though there are a few SUVs scattered here and there. Of course, the SWAT team wouldn’t announce themselves with lights and sirens.
Dragon turns off the engine about a block away, and we sit for a moment in the echoing silence, until finally?—
“Ready?” Dragon asks, his gaze steady on mine.
“I am,” I reply, though fear is gnawing at my insides. “Do you think the SWAT team has infiltrated it yet?”
Before Dragon answers, someone taps on the driver’s side window. I jerk despite myself. It’s a uniformed police officer.
Dragon rolls down the window, his face impassive. “Is there a problem, officer?” His tone stays steady.
The officer looks at me and then back at Dragon. “No, sir. But you’ll need to leave this area. We’ve got a police operation going on.”
Dragon nods. “I know. My sister is inside. Or she may be.”
The officer widens his eyes. “I see. You must be Mr. Locke.”
“Yes. Dragon Locke, and this is Diana Steel.”
“All right. If we find your sister, she’ll want to see a friendly face.”
A friendly face? She may not even recognize Dragon, but he simply nods.
“The SWAT team is about to make their move,” the officer continues. “They’re planning to enter from the west. That seems like the least-guarded entrance. You can move your car behind the SWAT vans.” He gestures.
Dragon nods again. “Will do. Thanks for the update.”
The officer tips his hat before walking away and leaving us alone in my car again with our anxieties.
Dragon restarts the engine, throwing one last glance my way before moving the vehicle as the officer instructed. As he pulls up behind the black SUVs that belong to the SWAT teams, I breathe in, trying to ease the sense of dread washing over me. All around us, officers are donning their protective gear.
Heavy boots crunch on the gravel. A handful of team members are reviewing maps and blueprints of the compound. Others check and double-check their weapons.
Dragon and I watch from our car. We’re intruders, new variables that the team has to take into consideration.
Yet they let us stay.
They let us stay for Griffin.
She’ll need us.
Well, she’ll need Dragon. She won’t know me from Eve.
A figure steps forward. I squint so I can read his nametag.
Jameson
Clearly he’s the commander. He’s a mountain of a man—bigger than my father and uncles—with dark eyes as hard as flint.
“Listen up!” his voice booms. “We’re going in hard and fast. Constant communication is key. Any sign of trouble, you radio it in.”
Dragon opens his door once the teams move out.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“They have surveillance monitors set up. I want to watch.”
“They won’t let you.”
“They don’t have a choice.”
I let out a sigh, leave the car, and follow Dragon to the monitors. Any minute now, someone is going to tell him to get the hell out of here. We’re lucky they’re letting us be this close.
Strangely, though, none of the technicians say anything as Dragon and I approach them and regard the monitors. A few moments later, the SWAT teams reappear on the monitors.
I stare at the eerie glow of the flickering screens.
But Dragon isn’t simply staring. He’s glaring at those screens. Tension is rolling off him in waves, and why shouldn’t it?
He may catch a glimpse of his sister. His first time seeing her since she was five years old.
I grab his hand, give it a slight squeeze, and then move to loosen it, but he grasps my hand more tightly. His other hand is a clenched fist, the knuckles white with tension. I squeeze back, reminding him that he isn’t alone in this. We watch as the SWAT members move through the compound, their figures ghostly shadows on the monitors.
As the team moves farther into the compound, their radio communication grows sparser and their movements more cautious.
Something isn’t right.
I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.
Dragon releases my hand and rubs at his forehead.
He feels it too.
Static comes through the radio, and then the monitors go dark for a moment before flickering back to life.
“Damn,” one of the techs says. “We’ve got a man down.”
Dragon curses under his breath.
I swallow down the lump in my throat, trying to ease the urge to vomit. We shouldn’t be here. We’re just in the way.
But Dragon won’t leave, and I won’t leave him.
The monitors flicker again.
A metal door. At least I think that’s what it is. Everything’s grainy. Shouldn’t this be top-of-the-line surveillance equipment?
Above the door is…
I squint to make it out.
It’s some kind of symbol.
A snake coiling around a cross.
Oh, God…
This cult is called the Order of the Serpent.
Just looking at that symbol makes me nauseated.
There’s evil behind that door.
“Charlie team, breach,” comes a voice across the radio.
My heart thunders as I watch the monitor. A SWAT member steps forward and places something on the door.
I grab Dragon’s hand again and squeeze even tighter. He doesn’t recoil or comfort me.
A deafening bang echoes from the speakers, and the screen fills with smoke. It was some kind of explosive. That’s what the guy put on the door. When the smoke clears, what was once solid metal is now reduced to scrap.
This is it.
“Proceed with caution,” Jameson’s authoritative voice cuts through the eerie silence.
As the team advances farther into the room, my breath hitches in my throat. This is where they carry out their dreadful rituals, shrouded in secrecy and darkness.
On one side of the room, a figure comes into view on the monitor.
Oh, God…
My heart leaps into my throat.
Dragon drops my hand and goes completely rigid.
It’s a woman. She’s thin and frail with blond hair. The image quality isn’t great, but from Dragon’s reaction, I know it’s Griffin. She’s bound and gagged.
Dragon vibrates next to me, a growl emanating from his throat.
“Dragon…” I begin.
“Don’t talk,” he commands.
“Target located,” one officer radios back to Jameson.
An officer approaches Griffin. His steps are slow and measured, eyes never leaving her as he lowers his gun. The team behind him spreads out, securing the room. The officer speaks to her, words we can’t hear. As the officer starts to untie her, a cry pierces through the radio feed followed by a series of rapid shots.
The image on the monitors quakes as whoever is carrying the camera takes cover.
“Alpha team report!” Jameson’s voice roars across the radio frequency, echoing around us.
“Contact! We have contact!” a voice replies amidst a flurry of static. “Multiple hostiles!”
The monitors finally stabilize to show a scene out of a nightmare. Hooded figures rush toward the SWAT team, their faces hidden behind masks, some brandishing knives.
Dragon drops my hand. “I have to go,” he says, his voice sounding unusually vulnerable.
“Dragon!” I call out after him, but he doesn’t stop.
“Sir!” one of the techs yells.
Dragon runs toward Jameson, toward the compound.
And I watch, helpless.