Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rain pelts down on the SUV as Tyler parks it behind a row of abandoned shipping containers two buildings over.
A black Ford Transit comes into view, about a quarter of a mile further back and I recognize it as one of the rescue crew’s vehicles; Tyler must have sent them a quick text before we left.
From here, we have a clear view of the warehouse, and it looks dead, too quiet.
We both know better. The things going on inside are beyond horrific.
Tyler presses the ignition button, shutting the vehicle off.
He grabs his laptop from the backseat and angles it toward me, surveillance feeds of both interior and exterior flickering across the screen in grainy black and white.
“There.” He shows me the feed of the two cameras inside alongside the livestream feed.
One reveals a hallway lined with steel wire tool cages, at least twenty or more. Each one with the same wired ceiling, towering nearly ten feet high.
I can make out three naked women, one in each cage. Near the girl closest to the camera, I can make out a bucket and a large sipper water bottle hooked up to the wires, the kind you use for rabbits.
Then Tyler switches to the other camera feed.
My stomach curls in on itself.
One huge room located in the very back of the warehouse behind the cages.
Where the livestream is going to take place tonight.
On the other side of the screen, viewer counts explode in the corners of the screens while hundreds of comments flow downward faster than I can read them.
VIP subscribers’ commands on what they want to see tonight and the bidding keeps increasing.
$500,000
$900,000
$1,200,000
The numbers keep multiplying.
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts.
“Cass.”
“They’re taking requests,” I respond, my voice sounds wrong.
Tyler doesn’t answer, because there’s nothing to say.
Comments continue pouring down the screen.
Something cold spreads through my chest, not panic or fear. The kind of rage that becomes surgical and comfortable at the same time.
Tyler shuts off the feed, not letting me read the rest.
The screen goes black, and the silence that ensues feels loaded.
“There are five guards confirmed, patrolling the exterior,” Tyler tells me nonchalantly, shifting us back to the plan.
I stare out at the warehouse while rain distorts the floodlights into bleeding gold smears.
“How many women inside total?”
“I counted three in the cages, so one of them must be doing the livestream in the back room.”
A booming clap of thunder splits the sky.
I work a kink from my neck feeling the knives nestled beside my ribs.
Tyler’s eyes move over me, missing nothing.
“You stay with me tonight.”
I meet his gaze with a silent challenge.
He doesn’t back down this time, which is unusual for him.
His voice lowers. “I mean it.”
Tyler knows exactly where that livestream took me. The memories I actively work to bury start scratching their way out of the grave I’ve dug for them. I stare back at the warehouse sorrow, devastation and rage churning together inside of me like old companions.
“They’re allowing people to pay to destroy them, for entertainment.”
Tyler scrubs a hand over the back of his neck before he answers. “Yes.”
“And thousands of people are watching it happen.”
His brows pull together, pinching in the middle as he stares at the warehouse.
He built this place on stolen lives and tonight, I will bury it with his body.
The horror looms between us, dark and unavoidable.
Tyler places his laptop on the dash, turns over his shoulder, and scoops up the duffel bag in the backseat filled with guns, extra magazines and restraints.
Then he lifts my earpiece from a pocket on the side of the bag and hands it to me.
“You remember the objective?”
“Take out the security guards first,” I reply automatically.
“And?”
I slide the earpiece in, double checking the placement.
“We reach one of the roll-up doors and you use the bolt cutters to break the lock latches.”
“Next?”
“We release the women in the cages and get them to the rescue crew. Since the men conducting the livestream will be in the back room, we take them out and save the last girl.”
Tyler nods once.
Lightning flashes across the windshield, illuminating the warehouse again for one brief second.
It almost looks like a prison in the storm.
Or maybe a crematory.
Tyler racks a round into the chamber of his Glock, the metallic click slicing through the silence inside the vehicle.
“You ready?” he implores.
Before I can answer, he loads my Glock and passes it to me. Then he prepares one for himself, setting spare magazines on the center console. We each get what we need and slide the extra ammo into the pouches on our tactical vests.
I peer at the floodlit building where people are paying money to torture defenseless women for gratification.
Then I double check my vest to ensure my knives are intact.
A malevolent smile takes shape on my face. “Let’s give them a better show.”
Tyler snags his laptop and situates his Glock on the console. “Alright, every camera in and around the warehouse is tied into the same feedback loop. Best case? We’ve got about an hour before someone gets flagged or notices.”
His fingers fly over the keyboard, “The timer starts now.” He shuts his laptop, stashes it behind him in the backseat, and tosses the duffel bag over his shoulder.
Before he exits the car, my hand finds his wrist, needing the contact, “Meet you at the graveyard.” My heart races, clinging to the ritual we’ve built from the wreckage. It’s a small thing, but somewhere over the last two years, it became ours.
He smiles lightheartedly, “I’ll be there.”
The last thing we do is throw on our tactical glasses to shield our eyes from the rain.
As soon as our car doors open into the storm, rain lashes against us like needles.
Cold water immediately soaks through my hair and runs down the back of my neck. It should make me shiver but instead I feel nothing at all.
My focus locks on the warehouse behind the large steel gate.
Floodlights glow along the metal siding while thunder rumbles above.
Tyler motions toward the line of shipping containers. I shadow his steps, saying nothing.
Our boots splash through shallow puddles as we move between rusted metal corridors and stacks of abandoned crates. Every few seconds the sky bleaches the world white before throwing it back into darkness.
The mission sends a surge of filtered energy through my senses and the closer we get the calmer I become, morphing into the weapon I was forged into.
Tyler’s voice crackles through my earpiece.
“Guard on the east corner. Smoking.”
I break toward the container and plaster myself against its steel side.
Then he comes into my line of sight. He’s heavyset, wearing a black hoodie, and has a
rifle dangling lazily from its strap while he scrolls through his phone beneath an overhang near a small, abandoned building.
He’s completely unbothered as if this place is normal and the nightmare behind him isn’t real.
Rain drips from the brim of his hat while cigarette smoke curls into the storm.
Tyler materializes beside me soundlessly.
Three fingers lift between us.
Three seconds.
I give him a curt nod.
Tyler takes the long route around while I cut straight through the shadows.
The guard never notices me. Not until my hand hooks over his mouth, cutting off any sound as his body jerks violently. The blade slides beneath his jaw, and hot blood sheets across my fingers.
A wet gurgle catches in his throat as I drag him backward into the darkness between the containers.
His rifle slides from his shoulder and drops into the mud with a soft splash.
The odor of blood, rain, and cigarettes.
The man convulses hard once before the fight drains out of him.
I let him go. His body folds into the puddles at my feet, dead in a watery grave.
Tyler is already dealing with the rifle, carrying it away and stashing it in one of the containers.
“One down.” He delivers the update like he’s reading off a checklist.
I wipe my blade across the dead guard’s hoodie before guiding it back into the sheath wedged right beside my vest.
We melt back into the shadows and push further into the shipping yard.
The storm masks the sound of our approach as we close in on the corner of the gate.
Voices filter through the rain.
Two guards this time and they are laughing.
I peek around the edge with the confidence of repetition.
One slants on the corner of the gate under a security camera while the other stands nearby the loading dock drinking from a bottle.
Their weapons sit low on their bodies, their guard even lower.
Tyler touches my arm once.
The storm peels back the darkness for a fleeting moment, unveiling the entire yard before dropping it over everything once more.
Years of practice take over, and we move as one.
Tyler converges on the first guard before he can react, smashing him hard into the gate pole with enough force to crack his skull against the metal.
The sound is smothered by the thunder.
I barrel into the second guard.
His eyes widen in shock as he spots me, his hand diving for the gun at his hip. My knife drives into his thigh. He screams, and I use the momentum to ram him backward into the loading dock railing before he can recover.
Rain pours over both of us while he struggles furiously beneath my grip.
“You fucking bastard,” I hiss.
At last, his hand finds his weapon.
I wrench the knife free and bury it directly into his hand.
The gun clatters into a puddle.
Then my forearm crushes against his throat. He gags and thrashes, panic overtaking him. Another flash of lightning reveals the fear blooming in his eyes.
For one split second, I see every man who ever touched me against my will.
Every face. Every laugh. Every locked door.
No. Not now.
I know where I am.
I know this isn’t then.
But my brain doesn’t seem to care.
The past and present cloudily merge together.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Trying to wrench my focus back to the here and now.
Trying to remember that I’m not a captive anymore.
That I’m not powerless anymore.