Chapter 30 Cade
CADE
My chest heaves, each breath scraping through torn lungs as my body begs for sleep—but the pain denies me the escape I crave. Copper still clings to the back of my throat, thick and metallic, dripping like rust down my sinuses and burning as I swallow.
They only ever stop the torture at night. It’s quiet now—too quiet—so it must be late. A few hours, maybe, since the last round? I’ve lost count. I’ve lost everything but the rage simmering in my chest.
It seeps through me—my last ally in this hell. A slow, steady burn that holds the line, sharpening my thoughts as I claw through the haze, planning my inevitable escape.
I don’t know how I’m getting out of here. But I will. And when I do, I’m going to make every single one of those fuckers wish they’d killed me when they had the chance.
The door creaks open with a sound too soft to match the weight it carries.
My head lolls, barely able to lift, but I catch the voice. Fucking Benjamin.
“Hurry—he’s no good to us like this.”
He says it hastily and then Genevieve is moving to me, her body a hazy outline as I blink slowly.
Hands press to my chest, then I feel a vibration. A low hum at first, then a searing warmth blooms beneath my skin. It spreads—up my neck, down my arms, and across my stomach like wildfire licking through nerve endings.
The pounding in my head dulls then fades altogether.
I lift my gaze and lock eyes with Ben.
“I need you to listen, got it? I don’t have time to repeat myself.” His voice is sharp and steady, his eyes darting back toward the door.
I nod once—still dazed, the world slowly reassembling itself around me. The pain’s not gone, but something is stitching me back together. I can feel it—my skin knitting, torn muscle crawling into place. It stinks like burnt blood and charred flesh—and it hurts.
But it’s a relief.
“We’re doing this fast and quiet.” He pulls out a handgun—a sleek, silenced 10mm pistol with an extended clip—and places it on my lap. Then he’s at my wrists, cutting the ropes, my heavy arms falling limply to my sides.
“Your buddy’s smart. He contacted me,” Ben informs me quietly as he bends to work my ankles free.
My eyes snap open again. “Jack?” I say, barely above a whisper. Of course.
My body keeps heating, the feeling almost unbearable now. My chest feels like it’s on fire, like something inside me is boiling, and I let out a hissing breath.
“I can’t go further right now,” Genevieve says, pulling her hands away. The heat leaves with her, sudden and jarring. “It’s too much at once. We’ll have to do this in sessions.”
Ben leans in, eyes steady on my own, appraising. “Ready?”
I shove the ropes off, fingers already reaching for the gun. I cock it—clean, smooth, loaded. The bullet gleams in the chamber, the clip full.
It’s not my style—I tend to prefer knives—but this’ll work.
“I’m ready,” I rasp, throat still dry as fuck.
“Your guy’s waiting about half a mile up the road,” Ben says, quick and clipped as he shuffles toward the door. “You’ll follow me down the hall, up the stairs. The window in the parlor’s unlocked. If we get caught”—he nods toward the pistol—“use that.”
I stand, breath hitching at the pain that shoots through my ribs, and look down at Genevieve, brow raised.
She nods—tight but solid, her hands fluttering.
“What’s security look like?” I ask, already mapping the path in my head as I roll my neck, cracking it.
“Frank’s out cold. Guards at the front and back. Side patrols rotate every ten minutes. We’ve handled the cameras. If we time it right, we’re ghosts. I’ll stay close—cover you if anything goes sideways.”
I nod once, mind focused on the plan. “All right. Let’s go.”
Pain claws through my skin like barbed wire dragged across raw muscle—but I can walk. I can kill. Let’s get the fuck out of here.
I slip out the door and into the hallway, leaving the stench of rot and mold behind. The shift in the air hits me like a slap—cleaner, colder, wrong.
Overstimulation crashes down hard; the lights too bright, the walls too open. My body’s screaming, and my brain is lagging behind. But I force myself to move.
One step. Then another.
Up the stairs. Down the hall.
The parlor looms ahead of us.
I stop just before crossing into view, pressing myself to the wall. My eyes scan the room: heavy curtains, aged wood, the faint scent of dust and wood polish.
Ben is a shadow behind me, his gun raised, jaw tight. Genevieve’s between us, shoulders curled inward, making herself small. Her eyes flicker to mine—wide and terrified. She’s trying not to shake. I nod at her and turn back.
I slip into the parlor, slow and deliberate, each step a silent promise.
Ben follows, stopping just beyond the doorway. He nods, gesturing toward the window with a tilt of his chin.
He throws his fist in the air and I still.
Footsteps crunch outside. They are slow, deliberate, shadows moving across the curtains. I hear armor shifting and clinking, the unmistakable sound of rifles brushing tactical vests… Then, the sound fades.
I creep to the window, unlatch it, and ease it open inch by inch, cold air kissing my face.
I duck and lower myself through the opening, dropping into a silent crouch on the grass below. My eyes scan the area—we’re clear.
I look up—Genevieve is hesitating at the window. I reach up, catch her waist, and slowly pull her through, her body pressed against mine. Her breath is quick against my neck as I set her down, eyes already back on the window.
Ben lands beside us with a quiet thud, pistol still drawn. He points toward the front of the property, and we move silently through the night.
Backs pressed to the outer wall, we inch toward the road. Our every step is calculated, every breath shallow. The open air feels too exposed compared to the stifled air of the basement. The gravel crunches beneath my boots despite how light I try to move.
I fight the urge to sprint, my legs twitch with instinct, bracing to bolt.
But as I glance at Genevieve—she’s trembling.
Her eyes lock on mine, her pupils blown wide with panic.
Her breath catches in her throat, chest rising slow and deep like she’s trying to stay calm, trying to match my rhythm.
I give her another nod, a hopefully reassuring look.
I peek around the edge of the structure and see the two guards, standing right where we need to be. Their stances are loose but alert.
Trained.
We’re not getting past them without blood.
I turn and grip Genevieve’s arm, and pull her in tight, my hand sliding around to cover her mouth before she can protest. My other hand raises the gun, pressing the barrel to her temple. She jerks, a muffled squeal escaping against my palm.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear.
“You’re gonna have to trust me,” I growl, my eyes locking with hers.
She nods fast, the motion jerky—terror written in the whites of her eyes.
Ben rounds the corner behind us, eyes immediately catching the scene, his expression tightening into something hard and dangerous.
“Stay back,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. “There’s no way past them without being seen.”
His jaw clenches, eyes darting to the guards ahead. He doesn’t like it, but he nods once, tight and slow.
I take a breath and step into the light.
Genevieve is rigid in my arms, the gun still to her head, my grip iron around her waist. I walk fast—confident—like I’m delivering something.
The first guard turns. Point—clean shot. Right between the eyes.
He drops.
The second pivots with a shout, raising his weapon. I fire and miss, tearing through his shoulder instead. He screams, stumbling over his feet, clutching his arm.
I realign. The second shot is buried in his temple.
He’s down.
Shouts erupt behind the house. It’s too late now. We gotta move.
I drag Genevieve toward a thick tree near the edge of the path, shoving her behind the trunk as I crouch low beside her. She’s shaking but silent. Shock, maybe?
I lift my head just enough to gesture sharply toward Ben to stay back.
Let them come to me.
A guard charges from behind Ben.
Ben doesn’t hesitate. He intercepts him mid-sprint—grabbing him by the vest and slamming him into the siding with brutal precision. Then, with a voice cold enough to freeze the air, he shouts: “I don’t have eyes—he’s got the witch! Shoot to kill!”
And without flinching, Ben pulls the trigger, point-blank.
Blood sprays. The guard drops.
“Man down!” Ben roars, loud enough to shake the trees.
Another shadow moves on the opposite side of the house. I spot the glint of a weapon, raising mine in response.
Shoot.
He crumples instantly and I grin to myself. Ya know… I think I like this gun.
I pull Genevieve behind another tree closer to the road, shoving her behind cover. She squirms in my grip, her small hand around my wrist, trying to wrench my hand from her mouth—but I hold firm. Not yet.
Footsteps thunder behind Ben. Another guard incoming, and fast.
Ben turns just in time to meet him—two shots crack through the night.
The man falls with a thud.
“Behind you!” Ben shouts—right before he collapses to his knees, his hands clutching his side, a wet sucking sound rattling his chest.
Genevieve lets out a muffled scream against my palm and I whip around—Oh shiiit.
CRACK.
A hard blow to the side of my skull sends me crashing back against the tree, Genevieve tumbling to the ground next to me. My vision spins, stars bursting across the darkness. My weapon is gone—thrown somewhere behind the brush. I blink—dizzy. I’m bleeding. Motherfucker.
And then I see him.
Fucking Frank.
Towering and monstrous—his mouth curled into something uglier than a smile. He grabs Genevieve by the throat and yanks her off the ground like she weighs nothing. She kicks wildly, clawing at his hands as she gasps for air, face turning a blotchy red.
Frank sneers at her, voice dripping with venom.
“You’re not going anywhere, little bitch.”