Chapter 37 #2
“When we get out—” Millie starts.
“When we get out,” I snap, turning to her. “you're telling me everything.”
“Okay.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
Then footsteps echo from somewhere above us. Heavy. Multiple sets.
We both freeze.
The footsteps get closer. Louder. Coming down stairs I can't see.
They're coming back.
I meet Millie's eyes across the space between us. See my own fear reflected there.
The footsteps stop. A door opens somewhere beyond my line of sight.
I hold my breath.
Four figures emerge from the shadows.
Masks cover their faces, all with some type of skull re-imagination made from steel. One looks bone white, with black smudges over the eyes, another the colour of tarnished metal, ripped from the side. They move with military precision. Practiced. Coordinated. Not a wasted motion between them.
Professional.
One moves to the front, his rusted reddish-brown mask eaten away by decay. Three deep diagonal slashes across his face like claw marks. More barbed wire than the others, wound tighter and more carefully. Dents circle the eye holes from the inside.
He tilts his head. “Well, well.” His voice is light. Almost playful. “Look what we caught.”
I flash my teeth. “Let me guess. You’re the leader of One Direction?”
He barks out a laugh loud enough to make my ears bleed, and my snarl slips a little. Creepy weirdo. The other three fan out through the room somewhere, but all within eye-shot.
“You know what's funny?” He crouches down so we're eye level. “You weren't even supposed to be here. Wrong place. Wrong time.” He shakes his head in mock sympathy. “That's gotta sting.”
I don't respond. People like him only find your words amusing. They’re fucking emotional vampires, sucking you dry while you do all the work.
“But hey.” He stands back up. “I tried to argue that I wanted a spare toy, but apparently, I can't keep you.” He glances at Millie. “We only get one to share.”
“Fuck you.” The words scrape out of my throat, making me hesitate. What does he mean by he can't keep me? The question burns through my head, but I shove it down.
“I thought you were the all powerful Triple Zero?” I mock, that smirk back on my face.
He laughs. Actually laughs. The sound rolls out of him, genuine and unhinged, and I realize I've just become his favourite new plaything.
“Oh, I like you.” He turns to his companions, and something shifts in his expression—ownership bleeding through amusement. “She's got fire.”
I don't know why, but when his eyes drift over my shoulder and Millie's face drains of colour, the air changes. Thickens. The hairs on my arms stand up, and my body knows what my brain won't admit—something worse than him just walked in. Something that has Mother Nature fucking bend.
His footsteps sync with the hammering in my chest, and when his massive frame comes around the corner, the one in the reddish mask melts back into darkness where the others wait.
My mouth goes bone-dry. He pivots toward me—deliberate, unhurried.
Every degree of his turn makes my pulse spike harder.
They're all built huge, but this one... Jesus Christ. This one shouldn't exist. He's wrong in every dimension, too much of everything—height, width, the sheer space he steals from the world just by standing in it.
Steel stares back at me, industrial-looking. The numbers zero, zero, zero are scratched messily across the forehead, and the entire corner of his cheek is ripped away, exposing a deathly sharp jawline and cheekbones that could be weaponized.
Triple Zero is a person, not an organization. Everything stops. Time. Breathing. Millie’s sobs. My fucking optimism that we’re getting out of here.
I try to pull away, but there's nowhere to go.
He doesn’t speak, just moves, and when he’s so close I can see the blue flecks in his eyes, smell the sharp cologne on his skin, the glint of a needle catches my attention.
“What are you doing?” The words tear from my throat, raw and desperate.
“This'll make the trip easier.” His voice carries the weight of finality—the sound death might make when it comes to collect.
“Where?” I push the question past the terror closing my windpipe, because this man radiates something wrong. Something that makes my bones want to crawl out of my skin.
“Somewhere your sister can't follow.”
The needle breaks skin.
Cold spreads through me—liquid nitrogen in my veins, freezing me from the inside out. Everything narrows. The edges of my vision blur and darken. The basement tips, floor becoming wall.
Millie's voice tears through the air. The words dissolve into noise, meaningless and distant.
Olive.
I'm sorry, baby. I'm so fucking sorry.
The world goes black.
Light. Harsh and unforgiving.
My eyes crack open. Everything's too bright. Too sharp.
What — I try to move. Can't. Not because of restraints this time.
My limbs won't respond. Like someone cut all the wires connecting my brain to my body. Drugged. Still drugged. My mind churns, sluggish, clawing through the fog. What the fuck did they pump into me? I want to scream, to fight, but my body’s a traitor, lying limp like a broken doll.
Cold air hits my skin. All of my skin.
Naked.
I'm naked.
Lying on rough ground. Asphalt or concrete, maybe.
Something hard and unforgiving beneath me.
It scrapes against my back, biting into raw flesh.
I can’t even flinch. Humiliation burns hotter than the chill, searing through the haze.
They stripped me. Left me like trash. My stomach twists, but even that feels distant, muted by whatever’s still coursing through my veins.
Voices drift from somewhere nearby. Muffled. Distant. I strain to hear them, my head pounding with the effort. Can’t tell if they’re coming closer or fading away. Doesn’t matter. I’m exposed, helpless, and every second out here feels like a fucking eternity.
I force my eyes to focus. Shapes resolve slowly. A metal fence. Trees beyond it. And above — the gate.
Woodsmen clubhouse gate.
They dumped me at the clubhouse.
My face feels sticky. Wet.
I try to lift my hand. It moves this time, but slowly. Like I'm moving through molasses.
My fingers touch my forehead. Come away red.
Blood. More blood.
The sound of engines roars in the distance. Growing closer.
I try to sit up, my body screaming in protest. Have to. Have to see what they did. Have to — engines cut off. Boots hit pavement.
“Fuck.” The voice is raw. Broken.
Hella.
A moment later, something soft settles over me. Hella's cut. I recognize the leather. The weight of it. The way it smells like him.
Then hands—warm, gentle hands—lifting me. Cradling me against a chest that smells like leather and cigarettes and home.
“I've got you.” Hella's voice cracks. “I've got you. You're safe. You're—fuck, what did they do to you?”
I try to speak. Can't. My tongue feels too thick. The drugs are working through my system.
His hand cups my face. Tilts it up. His eyes—those bright blue eyes I've been trying so hard not to love—stare down at me with something that looks like terror.
“What's on her face?” That's Beast. Somewhere behind Hella. “Is that—”
“Yes.” Hella's voice goes flat. Dead.
“No.” Beast sounds like he's seen a ghost. “That's not possible. They're—”
“Real.” Hella cuts him off.
I force my hand up. Grab Hella's vest. He looks down at me immediately.
“Millie.” The word comes out slurred. Wrong. “They have Millie.”
His face goes absolutely still. “Who has her?”
“Triple Zero.” I struggle to make my mouth form the words correctly. “They took her—” I swallow hard, fighting through the drugs. “They're never giving her back.”
Something dangerous flashes through Hella's eyes.
“What's on my face?” I manage to ask.
His jaw tightens. He doesn't want to answer. I can see it in the way his whole body tenses.
“Hella.” I grip his vest tighter. “What did they put on my face?”
“The numbers zero-zero-zero.”
Triple Zero.
Rage cuts through the drug haze. Hot, violent, and all-consuming.
“We have to get her back.” I try to sit up properly. Hella's arms tighten around me, keeping me still. “Hella, we have to—she's my sister—”
“I know.” His hand moves to the back of my head, pressing my face against his chest. “I know, baby. But right now I need to get you inside. Get you cleaned up. Get you—”
“No.” I push back against him. “No, we don't have time. They have her. They're—” My voice breaks. “They're going to hurt her.”
“Melissa.” Beast crouches down next to us. His face is grim. “We need to talk about Triple Zero. About what they are. What they do, but first, we gotta get you inside before your old man kills everyone for seeing you this way, you hear?”
“I know what they do.” The words come out sharp, Beast’s words of Hella being my man flying well over my head. “Millie told me everything. The trafficking. The nuns. All of it.”
Beast and Hella exchange a look that makes my stomach drop.
“What?” I demand. “What aren't you telling me?”
“Triple Zero isn't a trafficking ring.” Beast's voice is careful. Measured. “They're—”
“An empire. Yeah, I know.” I try to move again. Hella won't let me go. “They run everything. Pull all the strings. Millie already explained.”
“Did she tell you they're connected to Vanguard?” Hella asks.
The world tilts sideways.
“What?”
“Vanguard.” Hella's arms tighten around me. “The organization that trained me and Beast. That we escaped from. They're—” He stops. Takes a breath. “They're not just a they, they're a he, and baby, listen to me...”
No. I don’t want to. How could my life be so epically fucked up right now.
“The men that have Millie.” I force the words out. “The ones wearing masks. You know who they are.”
It's not a question.
Hella nods slowly. “They're recruited by Agent 000, so they fall under his control, and Triple Zero himself has always been the only person Vanguard could never control.”
“Leader.” I finish. “He was the one who drugged me.”
“Fuck.” Hella pulls back enough to look at my face properly. “Melissa, I need you to listen to me carefully. The men who have your sister—they don't negotiate. They don't trade. They don't—” Hella's face contorts into pain and rage and guilt all mixed together.
“I'm sorry.” The words sound like they're being ripped out of him. “I'm so fucking sorry. If I hadn't—if I'd—”
“Stop.” I cut him off. “This isn't your fault.”
“It is.” His voice breaks. “I pushed you away. Made you think I didn't care. You wouldn't have been outside if I hadn't—”
“Hella.” I grab his face with both hands. The movement makes my head spin, but I don't care. “Look at me.”
He does. Those blue eyes swimming with guilt.
“This is not your fault.” I say each word clearly. Firmly. “This is on them. Not you.”
He stares at me like he wants to believe it but can't.
“Now.” I lower my hands. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Tell me we can get her back.” My voice wavers despite my best efforts. “Tell me there's a way. Tell me my sister isn't—” I can't finish the sentence.
The silence that follows is too long.
Hella looks at Beast. Beast looks away.
No.
No, they can't—they have to — “First.” Hella stands, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing. “We get you inside. Get you cleaned up.”
I want to argue. Want to demand answers right now. But the drugs are in my system and I'm naked and have a damn mark on my forehead that makes me feel like I’m going to be chased.
“Olive.” I freeze. “Where's—”
“Safe.” Beast cuts me off immediately. “At my mother's house with her cousins. Doesn't know anything about what happened. We kept it quiet.”
Relief floods through me so suddenly I sob.
“Thank fuck.” I press my face back against Hella's chest. “Thank fuck.”
“I've got you.” Hella's voice drops to something softer. Gentler. “I've got you, baby. Hold on.”
He starts walking. I feel Beast moving beside us. Other voices join—Frost, Ripper, others I can't place through the drug haze.
“We're almost inside.” His voice is steady now. Controlled. Like he's forcing himself to hold it together for my sake. “Almost there.”
I close my eyes and let him carry me. Let myself feel safe for a moment despite everything.
Because Millie's out there. In the hands of monsters. Still — Hella's grip tightens around me. Like he can read my thoughts.
I want to believe that we can get her back, but all I can see is the masks. All I feel is the fear that exploded through me as he entered.
And all I can think is that maybe—maybe—some monsters really are untouchable.
That sometimes, the bad guys win.