Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Declan
The darkness felt alive, pressing in from every side, and as Bella sobbed against my chest, I held her tighter, my wet shirt cold between us.
Her confession was a bloody shock. She looked so innocent, but no wonder she'd always seemed edgy. Still, that wasn't murder. That bastard had killed her father, tried to choke her, and stabbed her. What she’d done was survival, pure and simple. I'd fight anyone who tried to call it anything else.
“It's okay, Bella,” I murmured against her hair, though the words felt inadequate. “What you did was self-defense. We'll get through this.”
A shaky breath hitched in her throat. “But they won't stop.” She shook her head against my shoulder. “Not until I'm—”
A low hum pierced the silence around us, like something mechanical waking from a long sleep. The sound vibrated through the rock walls, setting my teeth on edge.
“What's that?” Bella jerked back from me.
“Shit!” I shoved off from the wall and jumped to my feet, pulling her up with me.
The row of light bulbs strung high along the tunnel wall flickered to life one by one, marching down the passage toward us, each one sputtering and buzzing as decades-old filaments struggled to life.
One burst with a sharp pop, spraying glass across the rusted steel tracks and dirt floor.
Then another, and two more, the sound like gunshots in the enclosed space.
But enough survived to fill the tunnel with a pale, sickly yellow glow that threw harsh shadows against the rough-hewn rock walls.
“Son of a bitch. They found the generator.”
Bella flinched beside me, and when her eyes lifted to mine, raw fear shimmered in her tears, turning them into liquid gold in the jaundiced light. “I told you they won't give up.”
“Neither will we.” I grabbed her hand.
She winced as she tugged her hand free.
“Shit. Shit. Sorry.”
She turned her hand over, and the severity of her burns made my stomach drop. Raised welts covered her palm and fingers, the skin red and raw where she'd grabbed the hot metal tray. Some blisters were as big as my thumbnail.
“Jesus, Bella.”
“I'm fine.” Her jaw set as her expression morphed from the vulnerable fear that had gripped her moments ago to steel-edged determination.
“Okay. This way.” We sprinted along the rail track, jumping from one wooden crosstie to the next. The hand-cut timber was unevenly spaced, and some of the rotten ones sagged under our weight.
The air became heavier and damper as we moved deeper. The smell of wet earth, oil, and rust coated my throat. Water dripped somewhere ahead, echoing like a ticking clock.
Bella kept pace beside me, shoulders tight, burned hands held close. She didn't complain, just matched me stride for stride.
Our footsteps echoed too loudly, announcing our position. We might as well have been firing a flare gun.
This tunnel stretched for miles, branching in dozens of directions. I mentally pictured the layout. I'd studied these passages for years and had memorized every shaft and crosscut.
“I thought this mine was abandoned,” Bella said between breaths.
“It is.”
“But how are the lights still working?”
“Solar panels.”
“Oh.” She glanced at me, her brow furrowed like she was trying to piece that answer into the dozens of questions that must be racing through her mind.
It had been six years since I'd last been down here, but I'd spent two years studying the layout before I'd pitched my plan to my old man to reopen the mine. With every objection he'd thrown up, I'd had an answer ready.
It costs too much to run the bloody power all the way out here.
I'll put in solar panels. The sun will provide our electricity.
That'll cost the farm an arm and a leg, boy.
I'll pay for them myself.
Which I had. I dropped nearly forty grand on a solar array and battery system that powered the essential systems like lighting, ventilation, and equipment.
I still came out every year or so to clean the panels.
I told myself I was protecting my investment and that, maybe, we could repurpose that power somewhere else on Koolaroo one day.
Now those same panels could be the death of us, lighting our way for those mafia assassins to hunt us down.
“So the mine is quite new then,” Bella said. “To have solar panels, I mean.” She slipped sideways on a patch of wet rock.
I grabbed her elbow to steady her, and she tugged the loose strap of her dress back onto her shoulder.
“Actually, no,” I said. “This diamond mine originally started in the late 1890s. Nobody's sure of the exact date because the early records were lost in a fire at the settler lodge.”
“Oh wow, that's a long time.”
“Yeah. This section was built by hand with picks, shovels, and black powder.” I gestured at the rough stone walls around us, the irregular surfaces showing chisel marks and drill holes. “It took them three years to dig the first mile.”
We ducked under a low-hanging support beam thick with rust. “That must’ve been brutal work.”
That was an understatement. When I'd tried to reopen the mine six years ago, we'd used modern equipment like hydraulic rock drills, electric jackhammers, and mechanized ore carts on rails.
We'd had ventilation systems, safety protocols, and engineering surveys, and it had still been backbreaking, dangerous work, with men coming up from the depths covered in rock dust and exhausted to their bones.
I couldn't imagine digging these tunnels with nothing but hand tools and dynamite, working by candlelight in the suffocating heat, never knowing if the next swing of the pick would bring the whole mountain down on your head.
“So, it's been operating for over a century?” Bella asked.
“Well, not consistently. No. It's been shut down four times.” We dodged around a rusted ore cart that had derailed decades ago, its wheels seized solid with corrosion.
“During both World Wars, when the men were needed for the war effort. Then again, after a mine collapse in 1963 that killed eleven men.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. It stayed closed for fifty years after that. The next time it opened was six years ago. The mine operated for just eight months before—” I cut myself off, jaw clenching.
“Before what?”
“Before it shut down for good.” I forced the emotion from my tone, though the memory still burned like acid. “Financial reasons.”
That was the sanitized version.
A junction split the tunnel ahead. The left passage disappeared into absolute darkness. Clearly, none of the lights had survived the years of neglect. The right side glowed with that sickly yellow light, our only viable option.
“I guess we go that way?” Bella scrunched her nose, and my heart skipped a beat.
Even covered in dirt, her hair plastered to her face, and angry red burns on her hands, she was beautiful.
That little nose scrunch shouldn't have affected me the way it did, but Christ, it made me want to pull her close and promise her everything would be okay.
“Yeah. The compressor room is that way anyway,” I said, forcing myself to focus on survival instead of the way her eyes caught the light. “Maybe we can find something to arm ourselves with.”
“Like those knives you threw. That was amazing, by the way.”
“It was a miracle,” I said, shaking my head. I hadn't hit one target I'd aimed for, but I’d still hit them. It surprised the hell out of me.
“More than a miracle. If you hadn't gotten them, we wouldn't have escaped.” Her voice was fierce with conviction.
We jumped from one crosstie to the next along the rail line. The wooden ties were slick with moisture and moss, damn treacherous underfoot. My boots slipped more than once, and Bella's sharp breaths told me she was struggling, too.
The tunnel widened into the compressor chamber. The old machine dominated the center like a rusted octopus, its pipes trailing across the ceiling like tentacles. Corrosion flaked off in sheets. Stagnant water pooled at its base, reflecting oily rainbows.
The new compressor sat beside it. That machine had cost me a fortune to buy, transport from Sydney, and install piece by piece. I shook my head. Such a monumental waste of money. The rubber hoses had rotted through, hanging like split veins.
That pissed me off. The broker I'd bought the machine from had sworn this thing would last decades with minimal maintenance.
Lying bastard.
“Which way?” Bella's voice echoed in the larger space.
There was only one option. “That way.” I pointed to where the tunnel continued on the far side of the chamber, a darker mouth between the two compressors.
As I passed the newer machine, one of the main pipes caught my eye. The thick metal conduit had split open—but the edges were too straight to be accidental. I ran my fingers along the cut. The gouge had rusted, severed years ago.
What the hell? This had been cut deliberately.
Anger stirred in my gut as I tried to work out why anyone would do that.
Maybe someone had planned to strip the copper from it, checking whether the pipes were worth salvaging.
When this place had shut down, I'd planned to sell off whatever equipment I could to recoup some of the losses, but nobody had wanted a massive industrial compressor.
The damn thing had depreciated to almost nothing the moment we'd fired it up and was worth more as scrap metal than as functioning equipment.
Still, seeing it vandalized felt like someone had taken a knife to an old wound.
“Declan?” Bella's voice pulled me back. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I'm coming.” I forced myself to move and focus on getting us out of here alive, instead of dwelling on past failures.
We sprinted into the next tunnel. The walls closed in around us, barely wider than my shoulders. A massive ventilation pipe ran along one side, weeping condensation. We ducked under ore chutes and support beams jutting at odd angles.