Chapter Twenty-Five
Cassie could just barely stand upright inside the tunnel, while Ollie’s height forced him to hunch over her. His hand fisted in the back of her shirt, his boots clipping hers as he shoved her forward.
The only light came from his phone, held low at his side, casting a narrow beam ahead. With her hands cuffed, she was useless for anything but catching herself when she stumbled, which she did more than once. Each time, Ollie’s grip tightened before driving her forward again.
It could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been longer. All Cassie was aware of was Ollie behind her and the sick dread twisting tighter with every step.
At the end of the tunnel, he shifted, his hand leaving her just long enough to work another board loose from the wall, before shoving her through another crudely dug opening.
She stumbled into a wider, brighter space, light filtering down through several small windows above—a second cellar. The room stretched out farther than the one they’d come from, stacked tight with large barrels and boxes rising in uneven rows along the walls.
Ollie didn’t slow. He kept her moving toward a set of stairs, a heavy door at the top secured with a padlock. Working quickly, he unlocked it and shoved her up the last step.
This cabin was larger than the first. Much older, too.
And full of tables.
Long and functional, they filled most of the room, chairs shoved in and out around them. On one sat a crate of blenders, boxes of disposable gloves stacked beside them. On another, a thick metal device had been bolted down—a press of some kind. Industrial and completely wrong in a place like this.
“Sit.”
Yanking her to a sudden stop, Ollie shoved her down into a heavy wooden chair, square-backed with carved arms. Dropping into a crouch, he unlocked one cuff, dragged it hard against the armrest, and clicked it shut.
He gave it a short testing tug before straightening and crossing to the far wall, where a row of old metal lockers stood shoulder to shoulder.
Moving through them with quiet efficiency, he unlocked one, then another, gathering what he needed and setting the items out on a nearby table.
Something small. Glass. A vial, maybe. And a plastic-wrapped packet—its contents impossible to make out from where she sat.
He pulled on a pair of gloves, snapping them into place one at a time. A disposable mask followed—the kind used in clinics. Tearing open the packet, he poured something into the vial, then, very gently—absurdly gently—began stirring the contents.
Watching him, Cassie tugged against the cuff. The chair barely shifted beneath her. Too heavy to lift. Too far from anything she could reach.
“Ollie,” she rasped.
He didn’t look at her.
“Ollie,” she tried again. “You could just let me go. I’ll just…go back to New York…you’ll never…see me again.”
“Right,” he said muffled behind the mask, not looking up. “Because the girl who wouldn’t drop it with Maya is just gonna…let it go.”
“No one is going to believe this,” she said. “No one here…no one in New York.”
“People believe what they’re told, Cassie. Hell, Con just died, and here you come after all this time, no house, no family, stirrin’ everything up. You already got caught breakin’ into the old place. Won’t take much for folks to decide you finally went the same way your mama did.”
Cassie shuddered in a breath before forcing the words out. “Did you—” She swallowed hard. “Did you kill Connor?”
“Kill him?” Ollie huffed, shaking his head. “Jesus, Cas. I gave him a job.
“I was tryin’ to help him,” he continued, his tone sharpening. “Nobody else was. Not even Nash—his so-called brother.”
He paused, thumbing the cap off a hypodermic needle. Cassie’s grip tightened against the handcuff, her stomach dropping as she watched him draw the contents of the vial into the syringe.
“And then—” Ollie let out a short, humorless laugh. “After I go outta my way for him…”
His mouth hardened. “He starts fuckin’ stealin’ from me.”
Setting the syringe down, Ollie reached for a cloth, wiping his hands before peeling off the gloves and dropping them aside. The mask followed, tossed with the rest. Picking up the syringe, he started toward her.
Cassie pressed herself deeper into the chair. “No,” she cried, panic breaking into her voice. “Ollie—no.”
With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a short length of rubber tubing, tossing it into her lap.
“Roll your sleeve up,” he said. “Tie your arm off.”
Cassie stared down at it for a second before looking back at him. “No,” she whispered, pushing herself back as far as the chair would let her, her wrist straining against it. “No,” she cried, shaking her head harder now. “Ollie, don’t. Please don’t do this.”
He paused, head tilting slightly as he stared at her.
“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter now, “I was real happy to see you again. Hell, I was hopin’ you’d show…”
Cassie stilled, caught off guard.
“Always had a thing for you,” he said, his hand coming up to brush along her cheek.
She flinched hard, jerking her face away from him before she could stop herself. “Ollie—what the fuck. This isn’t you.”
Ollie’s hand dropped; he huffed a bitter laugh. “But look at you. Still goin’ for the wrong kind of man.”
Cassie looked back at him, eyes wide. “Is that a joke?” she rasped. “Look what you’re doing—what kind of man are you?”
“What choice did I have?” he bit back. “I ain’t got what you got. Wasn’t born with talent fallin’ in my lap. Didn’t inherit a goddamn club an’—”
He cut himself off, jaw hardening.
“There ain’t a way to be made in these hills anymore. Not unless you take it.”
He drew the gun from the back of his waistband and brought it up between them, the barrel aimed at her forehead.
“So here’s how this goes. You roll your sleeve up…or I put you down right here.”
Nash moved through the tunnel, phone in one hand, gun in the other, Sarge close behind him. The beam from his phone cut ahead, the narrow passage forcing him to hunch low, shoulders brushing dirt and roots as he moved.
As the tunnel opened into the second cellar, he killed the light on his phone and ducked inside. He swept the space quickly, then glanced back to find Sarge already had his phone out, sending the location to the others.
Nash jerked his chin toward the stairs and Sarge nodded, tucking the phone away as his gun came up. They crept toward the door, slow and silent.
At the top, Nash’s hand closed around the handle. He pushed it carefully, expecting resistance—but the door gave instead, opening just enough before catching on some sort of latch.
One last glance at Sarge—
Then he drove his shoulder into it, throwing his full weight forward.
The wood split with a sharp crack as the door burst inward—
And the room snapped into place.
Tables everywhere—
Ollie—gun, needle—
Cassie—bound, bloody—
Ollie reacted fast—faster than Nash would’ve given him credit for. One second he was standing over Cassie, and the next he had her half out of the chair, the cuff still locking her to it.
“Stay back,” Ollie shouted, his grip at her throat, the gun to her head. “Stay the fuck back or she’s dead—”
Nash took one slow step anyway.
“I said freeze, Walker!” Ollie barked, jerking Cassie hard enough to pull a pained sound from her, the gun pressing tight against her temple.
He stopped. “You pull that trigger,” he said low, “you’re dead before she hits the floor.”
“Swiss fuckin’ cheese,” Sarge said.
Ollie’s eyes flicked between them, around the room, calculating.
“Just let me walk,” he said quickly. “There’s a four-wheeler in the shed. You let me walk outta here, you can have her.”
“Alive,” Nash gritted out. “I can have her alive.”
Ollie’s grip flexed at Cassie’s throat, his eyes moving again between Nash and Sarge, measuring.
“Keys,” he suddenly snapped. “Cassie. Left pocket. You’re gonna get ’em and uncuff yourself. Slow. No bullshit.”
Cassie didn’t move at first, and Ollie gave her a sharp jerk that pulled another small sound from her. “Now.”
She twisted as much as Ollie’s hold allowed, reaching awkwardly behind her, fingers searching his pocket. It took a second—then another—the keys clanking as she dragged them free, missing the first time before catching on the second, the cuff giving with a sharp click.
Ollie hauled her immediately back against him, edging sideways across the room. She stumbled as he dragged her, barely catching herself.
“Fuck you, Caldwell,” Nash bit out, stepping forward. “She walks first.”
Ollie shook his head, still moving. “No. I get to the shed. Then she walks.”
“You ain’t makin’ it out that door with her. You let her go now, you might.”
Ollie let out a short laugh. “You think I’m stupid? Hell, half your boys are out there waitin’, ain’t they?”
When Nash didn’t answer, Ollie ground the muzzle of the gun into Cassie’s temple hard enough to make her cry out.
Hard enough that Nash felt his teeth lock.
“Ain’t they, Walker!”
“Yeah,” Nash said, his voice a low growl. “They fuckin’ are.”
“Then you’re gonna tell them to back off and let us walk.”
Nash kept his eyes on Cassie.
She held herself still despite the tremor in her hands, her wide, watery gaze fixed on Nash like she might never see him again.
Fuck.
Nash lowered his gun a fraction. Not enough to change what he’d do if he had to—just enough.
“Sarge,” he said. “Tell ’em to hold.”
There was movement at his side—Sarge pulling out his phone, thumb passing quickly over the screen before the device disappeared again.
“Everybody move real slow now.” Ollie started for the door again. “And you keep your goddamn distance, Walker.”
Nash matched Ollie’s pace without closing the space between them, keeping his hands where they could be seen. It wasn’t a position that came naturally to him, but he kept himself in check, giving Ollie nothing that might set him off.
Outside, the yard opened up around them—a shed off to the right, the tree line thick beyond it. The Kings were already stepping out from where they’d been positioned along the edges. Guns up, no one fired.
There was no shot to take—not without risking Cassie.
Nash followed, watching Ollie back toward the shed with Cassie held tight against him.
“Unlock it. The brass one.” Ollie shoved her at the door.
With shaking hands, Cassie fumbled the keys toward the padlock. Metal clinked against metal, the lock twisting free.
Tossing the padlock aside, Ollie shoved Cassie through the doorway and disappeared in behind her.
Cursing, Nash broke into a run, gun up, nearly to the shed when an engine roared to life and a four-wheeler tore out of the structure, Ollie already firing his gun as he cleared the doorway.
Nash dropped and rolled, coming back up and diving toward the shed while his men scattered and shouted behind him, answering with their own fire.
He found Cassie just past the threshold, one hand braced against the wall.
“Nash—”
She tried to step toward him. Her hand slipped off the wood, her weight shifting, her legs giving out before she’d taken half a step.
He caught her before she hit the floor, dragging her into him. “Cas—look at me. What’s wrong—where you hurt?”
Roughly pulling her face toward his, her eyes lifted, finding his—
and then slid away.
“Nee—dle—” she whispered, her lashes fluttering.
Nash’s gaze dropped, catching the empty syringe on the floor.
When he looked back, Cassie’s mouth was open, her breathing off—fast and uneven, like she couldn’t get enough air.
Cursing, he hauled her up and pushed out of the shed, his shoulder clipping the doorframe hard as he stumbled into the yard.
“Sarge!” he shouted, the sound tearing out of his chest. “Boone—now!”
Boots hit dirt from every direction, voices overlapping, but Nash barely registered any of it—just Sarge breaking ahead of the rest, coming straight for him.
“Narcan,” he said, grabbing Sarge by the front of his cut. “The shit we had for Con—”
Sarge was already digging inside his vest, producing several small nasal sprays. Pushing Cassie’s head back, he pressed one into her nostril, thumb driving the plunger in with a soft click.
Nash dropped to the ground with Cassie still in his arms, Sarge following them down, both of them watching as her chest moved, but barely. There was no real breath behind it—just the same shallow rise and fall, her head tipping heavier against Nash’s arm, her lips starting to blue.
“It’s not fucking working,” he said, voice breaking as he grabbed for the second spray, jamming it into her other nostril and slamming the plunger down.
He let it fall away when it was done, his palm going back to her face, keeping her turned toward him, holding her there as though that alone might keep her from slipping any further.
“Cassie, baby,” he rasped, so low he barely heard it. “Don’t you fuckin’ leave me again.”