74. Vincent
Vincent
“I’M GOING TO HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT THIS PLACE.”
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Strong For Somebody Else”
“Waiting on the Sun”
The tunnel groans like something alive.
Dust floats in the air like ash, clogging my nostrils. It smells like mold and old metal. Tastes like it, too. My boots crunch over loose gravel and splintered wood. I keep one hand on the wall. The other rests on the grip of my handgun.
Behind me, Seth and Jude move in silence.
Raphael leads, but I stay close behind him in case he decides to run toward the first sound of screaming like a rabid wolf.
Back at the fire watch tower…I’ve never seen him so cold.
But I know, more than anyone, how it was a symptom of fear.
Of what we all fear—if we were to lose her.
The further we go, we discover gold veins running through the walls, glinting like glowing teeth, mocking us.
Jude kneels beside one beam, brushing dust off a weathered support post. “You know this used to be part of an old gold rush mine, right? That’s probably how Alden’s operation got linked to those bars.”
Makes sense. Greed built this place. Obsession and religious oppression kept it standing. And now, it’s trying to swallow us whole.
“This place wasn’t built to last,” Jude mutters. “These beams are older than any of us.”
“Not me,” I grunt. “I’m practically prehistoric.”
Seth huffs a dry laugh. “You don’t look it.”
“Careful, Seth,” I reprimand him. “Rory might get jealous.”
Seth blinks in the dim light. “You know he’s got a twelve-inch dong, right?”
I snort, rolling my eyes. It’s these little moments of humor that keep me sane. But the shadow that crosses Seth’s face, the way he lowers his chin, his body tight, I know he’s thinking of his partner.
“Don’t worry, Seth,” I assure him. “Rory’s tough as nails and crazy as fuck. He’ll be fine. And if they brought him to Briella…she will know we’re coming.”
He nods firmly.
The moments are short-lived. A rumble shudders through the tunnel, like something huge just fell miles away. Wood cracks. The floor shifts beneath us.
Then—crash.
The ceiling ahead gives way with a deafening roar, raining down dirt, debris, and splintered beams.
“Move!” Raphael barks, and we all scatter back, coughing through the wave of dust. The collapse chokes the path forward in a mound of rubble.
“Rory’s grenades,” Raphael mentions. “Must have been a delayed chain reaction. Brought the whole damn skeleton of this place shaking.”
I approach the pile, heart pounding. It’s not a total cave-in. Just enough to slow us down. “This isn’t all fresh. I’d wager part of it collapsed before. The grenades just finished the job. Shockwave hit the tunnels.”
“Can we still get through?” Jude asks, scanning the ceiling nervously.
“We don’t have a choice.”
I drop to one knee and start shifting chunks of rock. Sweat slips down my spine in sheets. These aren’t clean-cut weights—they’re jagged, heavy, and slick with age. But I’ve trained for worse. Bled for worse. I’ve broken bones just to get a shot in.
This? This is just busy work.
The others don’t waste time. Seth pulls one of the beams back while Raphael digs at the other side. Jude finds a support rod and starts wedging pieces loose.
“I’m going to have nightmares about this place,” Jude mutters.
“You sleep?” I ask, trying to stoke the humor. “I figured you just lay there thinking about all the ways we could die.”
“And how to save your sorry asses,” Jude adds.
Seth groans. “Can we not give the tunnel ideas?”
It takes twenty minutes and all of us, but finally we make a narrow pass-through, tight enough to crouch-walk, not crawl. Raphael slides through first without a word, just a blur against the lamplight. I follow, with Seth and Jude behind.
The air shifts after we clear it. Less damp. Less death.
“This way.” Raphael turns to one tunnel. “He’s been using it.”
“How do you know?” Jude asks.
“No cobwebs.”
“Smells like disinfectant and power trips,” I confirm.
When you spend a good portion of your life underground, fighting for everything, you get used to tunnels. The fights were in some old subway tunnels. And the boss had an office at the end of one. Old security station. It’s where I’d get paid.
We move more slowly now, cautious of another collapse. No one speaks. We all know if the ceiling comes down again, we might not make it out.
Eventually, the tunnel narrows into carved stone—reinforced. Custom.
I pause, running my hand along the wall. “We’re here.”
A steel panel blocks the way ahead, almost hidden in the rock, but I see the seams. Finger-smudged. Used recently. Alden’s escape route.
Seth helps me wedge it open. We brace, count to three—and shove.
It groans open with a burst of stale air and the faint, unmistakable scent of clove.
Alden’s office.
Rich wood. Bookshelves. An antique globe.
A high-backed chair with velvet trim and a decanter half-full of bourbon.
Creepy animal skulls line the walls. Circles painted onto the heads of each one.
I remember the ruined circle Briella had on the back of her neck.
Must be some ritualistic symbol for Easthaven.
Raphael steps inside like a predator entering another predator’s lair. Jude whistles low. “He really believes his own bullshit, huh?”
I don’t answer. I’m already moving.
Seth peels off toward the cabinets. And finds a safe. Interesting that it’s unlocked. “There’s a bag of gold bars in here.”
“Take it,” Raphael says.
Alden built this place on suffering. We’ll use the gold to rebuild our home.
I drop into the leather chair at Alden’s desk. No password. Narcissists don’t expect anyone else to ever sit in their seat. Just like the safe.
Raphael plants a hand on the desk on my left, leaning over to scan the screen.
Files. Videos. Emails.
Bribes. Schedules. Ritual plans. Names.
Evidence.
He hands me the thumb drive, and I upload everything damning. Anything more recent. The link flashes green.
Upload: 45%… 62%…
Seth finds a drawer with ceremonial knives and syringes. Jude pales. We’re all wondering if the Prophet used any of it on Briella. Raphael paces like he’s hearing voices in his head, calling for blood.
“Once this is done,” I say quietly, “we torch this place. Every file. Every relic. This whole fucked-up monument to his ego.”
“Rory will,” Raphael agrees, gesturing to his bag. “I have one grenade left. Briella will pull the pin. Rory will toss it. Easthaven will burn.”
The upload finalizes. We find uniforms in one of the nearby closets. We strap on masks and make our way outside the office. Quickly. Quietly.
Time to find our Queen.