Chapter 1 #2
I can’t see any switches, so I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight. It chases the shadows enough for me to see the bottom of the staircase and a square of floor around it.
“Can you smell that?” Dash covers his nose with the back of his arm.
I drag air into my nose and my stomach twists. It’s not damp or mold.
It’s… It’s piss.
Cautiously, I step forward. The wood groans under my boots, but it holds. Shit. I move slowly, testing each step before I put my weight on it until I reach the bottom.
It’s a box. Nothing more than four walls and a low ceiling covered in cobwebs that shimmer every time my light catches them. There are no windows, or if there are they’re covered. Pipes run over our heads and every inch of floor space is filled with shelving units.
There are no drugs or weapons. Nothing that would explain Crank’s interest in this place. I’m confused. This is a loose end, a mystery, and I don’t like either of those things.
“Maybe this was Crank’s way of messin’ with us from beyond the grave. Sendin’ us on a wild fuckin’ goose chase.”
“He wasn’t that smart,” Diesel replies to Riot.
Crank wasn’t smart, but he wasn’t stupid either. What he was undoubtedly was a coward. Saving his own skin was more important than protecting the patch, and that’s what cost him his life in the end.
“Uh, hey,” Riley calls out. “There’s something back here.”
“I swear if it’s another fuckin’ door...” Riot moves toward the kid, pushing him out of the way, and he just stops dead.
I don’t know why until I get closer and then I do the same.
Hidden behind a set of shelves and some boxes is a dog crate, the kind used for extra large breeds.
It’s so out of place, so jarring that for a moment all I can do is stare at it.
The stench of urine is thick in the air, and I force myself not to breathe through my nose.
Dash covers his face with the back of his hand. “Guess that explains the smell.”
Riot moves closer, peering through the bars. They’re thick, almost too thick for a dog crate, and there’s an industrial-sized padlock on the latch.
“Who the fuck keeps a dog somewhere like this?” Riot steps back, his gaze lifting around the space like he’s expecting a Doberman to slink out of the shadows.
“I fucking hate people,” Diesel says, low and dangerous.
He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. This room isn’t fit for any living animal. No windows, no real airflow. Cold, smelly, and dark.
Yeah, I fucking hate people too.
My gaze catches on something inside the cage and I step closer. Near the door is a shallow bucket. There’s no dog in existence that would use something like that to piss in. The thought materialises before I can stop it.
“This ain’t for a dog,” I mutter, my stomach twisting.
I slice the light over the blankets piled at the back of the cage and it’s then I see it. Something pale sticking out of the fabric. Something definitely not dog-shaped.
“Open the door,” I say, quiet but urgent. “Now.”
Diesel moves without question, sinking into a crouch in front of the padlock. I don’t look away as he works. I can’t. I’m too busy trying to convince myself I’m seeing things, that it’s just a trick of the light.
As soon as the door is open, I get down onto my knees.
“Nic.” Mace’s hand on my shoulder is firm, but I shrug him off and lean my head and my shoulders into the cage.
My heart is slamming against my ribs, the smell deep in my nose, but I tear the blankets back, anyway.
And my stomach drops through the floor.
I’ve seen some fucking awful things in my life, most of them recently, but this? This breaks something inside me I didn’t know could shatter. This ain’t blood on the floor or a bullet wound.
This is worse.
She’s curled up, as if she tried to make herself as small as possible. Bare skin shows through torn fabric, dirt ground into it. There are dark, ugly bruises on her cheek, blood dried in her hairline.
When the light hits her face, she doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. I move closer, watching in case she’s not really unconscious. When she still doesn’t stir, I cut my gaze between her face and her neck. I press two fingers beneath her jaw, feeling for any sign of life.
There’s nothing. Shit.
Come on, sunshine. Gimme somethin’.
I shift slightly in case I’m in the wrong place and time seems to stretch into the silence.
Then I feel it.
Fuck. It’s there. A slow, faint flutter.
“She’s alive,” I breathe. “Fuck. She’s alive.”
Her boneless body slides easily into my grasp when I pull her to me. Her arms dangle uselessly, deadweight as I drag her to the door.
“Shit.” Riot steps back as I lay her on the cold concrete. Her head lolls to the side, her jaw slack, like her muscles are switched off. “You sure she’s alive?”
“I’m sure.”
My fingers tremble as I brush her hair back from her face. She’s young, maybe mid-twenties—pretty too beneath the dirt. Her hair is lank and stringy around her shoulders, red or blond. It’s hard to tell in the crap lighting down here.
What fucking happened to her?
Is she hurt under the scraps of fabric barely covering her?
“Who is she?”
I ignore Dash’s question because I don’t have an answer. I don’t recognise her and there was nothing in Crank’s office that suggested he was keeping anyone down here.
“What was Crank doin’ with a girl in a cage?”
I glance at Mace, feeling more useless than I ever have. “I don’t know.”
Admitting that pisses me off. I’m supposed to know these things. This is my club now. I’m the president, but this is a fucking mystery I can’t solve.
I drag my gaze back to her, frowning. If Crank had anything to do with this… if this was club-sanctioned? I can’t even finish that thought. Because if he was behind this… If he did this in our name?
Fuck.
“Let’s get her back to the clubhouse,” I say quietly.
Diesel reaches for her, but I gather her to me before he can. I don’t know why, but I don’t want anyone touching her but me.
When I lift her into my arms, she’s loose in my grip. I settle her against my chest as her head rolls onto my shoulder.
Who the hell is she? And why the fuck was she in that cage?