Chapter 45
Roman
The abandoned factory was a dark, shadowy monstrosity in the night.
It had once been part of the Hawthorn agriculture business and had manufactured farm equipment, but had been out of production for years.
The building didn’t have any electricity, but that didn’t matter.
Thanks to our thermal imaging, we knew exactly where Anderson had Palmer.
And thanks to Fox’s hacking abilities, we had gotten the blueprints to the factory and knew exactly how to get there.
We just needed to do it, and all in the right timing.
For now, we were forced to follow his exact instructions until we could take back the control.
The beams from our flashlights cut through the blackness as we made our way toward the one specific door Anderson had indicated.
Old gravel crunched under our feet; the blacktop was crumbling into dust. We were in the middle of nowhere, about twenty minutes outside of Ember Hollow, and nothing surrounded us but barren fields and patches of trees.
My brothers at my side were the only things keeping me calm. We had spent every one of those forty minutes planning for this moment. We had done everything we could to get a good outcome out of this.
For me, there was no other option.
I flexed the muscles in my arms, stretching out my neck as we walked up to the door like I was preparing for war.
It felt like war.
August led the front, and he reached for the metal handle. My skin hummed with anxiety and anticipation.
It was locked.
His hand dropped to his side, and he glanced up at the battery-operated camera mounted above the frame.
We weren’t standing there long before my phone went off.
I took it out of my pocket and put it on speaker. “Palmer better be okay,” I growled into the phone.
Anderson chuckled, the sound as pleasant as a blade on glass. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She’s in pristine condition.”
A chill shot down my spine. I didn’t like the tone in his voice. He sounded too pleased.
“You gonna let us in, Amos?” August cut in. “Or would you rather we break down this door?”
Any amusement vanished from Anderson’s voice. “You need to strip first.”
August’s hand clenched around his flashlight. “It’s freezing out,” he snapped. “We aren’t here to play games.”
“I’m not playing,” Anderson said. “Not yet, anyway. It would be unwise of me to let you in if you have weapons.”
He clicked his tongue, and I gritted my teeth.
“Strip to your boxers, all of you. Once you show my camera you’re not stashing anything in your clothes or on your body, I’ll unlock the door.”
August grunted. The last thing we wanted to do was take our clothes off, but we had planned for a scenario where we weren’t allowed to have weapons inside the building.
“Fine,” he spat out.
“I’m waiting…” Anderson drawled.
Quickly, all five of us took off our black tactical jackets, pants, and shirts.
The cold air bit at my skin, but I refused to shiver or show any kind of weakness as I stared down the camera.
I was bloodthirsty, and I wanted Anderson to know it.
Of course we were armed.
Each time we revealed one of our hidden weapons, we threw it into an ever-growing pile on the grass, a good six feet away from the door, per Anderson’s instructions.
I had a hard time letting go of my Glock, but I knew it would be all right. We had planned for this, I reminded myself. I didn’t need it right now.
I glanced at August, and I could just make out the tiny earpiece stuck into his ear. There was no way, no matter how high-definition the cameras were, that Anderson would see it before it was too late.
The five of us stood there, almost naked, in full view of the stupid camera.
Fox grimaced beside me. “It’s fucking cold,” he grumbled under his breath.
Anderson made us wait longer than he needed to, feeding the tension building inside us until it was ready to snap.
Every part of me was ready to fight…and win.
Eventually, Anderson’s voice came through the phone. “Pick up your clothes and get redressed inside.”
No sooner had he said the words than the sound of an electronic lock flipped. Again, it would’ve had to be battery powered. I glared at the factory as we gathered up our clothes, wondering how long Anderson had been planning for this. He’d had to bring his own Wi-Fi and everything.
Leaving the weapons behind, August opened the metal door, and we all slipped inside.
He didn’t let go of the door right away, but Anderson was still on the phone and snapped, “Let the door close.”
August begrudgingly obeyed, and the heavy metal slammed shut.
Then the electronic lock flipped, sealing us inside.
We immediately got dressed in the darkness, moving as fast as possible.
We were in the receiving area of the factory. The air was so thick with dust and the smell of musty oil that I almost choked on it. Every window had been boarded up and nailed shut, blocking out any trace of moonlight. The wide truck bays were sealed the same way.
“Good luck, boys,” Anderson said through the phone, his voice eerily soft.
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen and then up at my brothers, their faces only visible in the narrow beams of light from our flashlights—the only things we’d been able to bring inside with us.
“Stay close,” August warned.
I pocketed my phone, considering it was no longer useful. I didn’t think Anderson would call again.
We went forward as a unit: August at point, me behind him, and the others fanning out enough to cover angles. We moved slowly, boots trampling over debris scattered across the concrete floor as we swept the large space.
Our steps echoed in the darkness. Metal shelving sat in rows in some sections.
They were mostly bare, but some of them were bent or collapsed.
Rusted scraps of equipment littered the ground—old brackets, warped panels, and lengths of metal that had been left behind and forgotten.
Graffiti covered parts of the walls that we could see, faded and layered over years of neglect.
Unease slithered down my back the deeper we trekked into the factory. Something wasn’t right.
I was about to stop August when the world went up in flames.
A low whoosh rolled through the space as flames erupted along the perimeter, crawling up the walls and surging higher. Fire licked along the baseboards and near the boarded windows—multiple points igniting in rapid succession on all sides.
Heat slammed into me a second later.
Adrenaline pumped through me as a distinct, chemical edge cut through the dust and decay. Kerosene.
I cursed. The flames climbed quickly, boxing us in and pushing inward. Smoke followed just as fast, thick and dark, rolling toward the ceiling.
“Move,” I snapped, stepping forward. “We need to find a door.”
The others didn’t hesitate. We spread enough to search efficiently, flashlights cutting through the growing haze as the heat intensified with every passing second.
I scanned the wall ahead, searching for anything—any break, any sign of an exit. There was an entry point onto the main factory floor; we just had to get to it.
It felt like forever before the set of metal double doors came into view. Thankfully, they weren’t boarded over, and I grabbed the handle and yanked. They were locked.
“Fuck!” I roared, sweat beading on my forehead.
The smoke was dropping lower, making each breath sting. My lungs protested as I inhaled, heat pressing in from every direction.
August stepped up beside me, and we hit the door at the same time, slamming our body weight into the metal as hard as we could. Sharp pain shot through my shoulder, but the metal didn’t budge.
We couldn’t give up. We hit it again and again, but with each thrust, my shoulder felt like it might pop out of its socket. August’s gritted teeth told me he felt it too, and he only had one good shoulder to begin with.
“Stop,” I barked at him. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
August muttered curses under his breath at me, but kept going. I glanced around for Fox or Graham, but they weren’t there.
“They’re searching for something to leverage these doors with,” August spat between shoves, as if he could read my mind.
Visibility dropped more as the smoke and flames crept lower. Every breath burned worse than the last.
Seconds stretched too long.
“Roman!” Fox shouted, carrying a long, flat piece of metal—some kind of shelving support or beam. Graham was close behind him.
He thrust it into my hands when he was close enough, and I studied it for only a moment. It was thin, but strong.
“Thank God,” August muttered, snatching it from me and jamming it between the seam of the doors. He wedged it as deep into the gap as he could. “Help me push,” he demanded.
All of us hit it at once, leveraging the metal, forcing pressure into the latch point. The frame groaned, the metal creaking under the tension.
“Again!”
We shoved harder, and the lock strained. The metal gradually began to bend, and we used all our combined strength to push on the makeshift lever.
It finally gave, the door bursting open. We all tumbled through.
Fresh air hit me hard. I stumbled forward, coughing as my lungs struggled to adjust.
“Close it!” I rasped. We needed to keep that fire contained to that room as long as possible.
We turned immediately, grabbing the doors and forcing them shut as best we could.
It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would buy some time to get Palmer.
Her name and face flashed through my mind, helping me refocus on the mission. I was here to save her.
I turned back around to face a large open area with old, broken-down machinery. But then I froze.
A man stood a few feet from the door, and it wasn’t Amos Anderson.
For a second, my brain couldn’t process what it was seeing.
“Nolan?”
His expression was hard as stone and all wrong.
“He sent me in case you made it out.” His voice was flat. “I’m supposed to—” He swallowed. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”
He reached behind him, pulling something out of his waistband.
I knew what it was, but I didn’t want to believe it. This couldn’t be happening.
Nolan pointed a gun directly at my chest.
My heart rate kicked into overdrive. This hadn’t been part of the plan. “Nolan,” I said, voice no louder than a whisper. “What are you doing?”
A flash of devastation crumpled Nolan’s face, but it was gone just as quickly. “I’m sorry, Roman,” he said, but he didn’t lower the gun.
This was Nolan. Jess’s brother. I’d thought of him as my own brother, too. How the hell had we ended up here?
I didn’t have time to ask him anything else before August stepped in front of me, blocking me with his body. “I’m afraid I can’t let you hurt my brother,” August growled.
Nolan gritted his teeth. “It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t want any of you walking out of here alive.”
His hand tightened around the grip, but he didn’t pull the trigger. Regret flickered across his face, and that brief hesitation was all the opening we needed. I was still frozen, barely breathing, as my brothers all moved at once.
Fox surged forward, swinging the piece of metal we’d used on the door at Nolan.
He tried to dodge, but he wasn’t fast enough.
The metal cracked hard against his arm, slicing open the back of his wrist and making him drop the gun.
As Nolan cried out in shock and pain, August lunged for the weapon.
Nolan recovered enough to kick August right in the temple and he went down, crumpling to the floor.
That snapped me out of it.
I rushed forward. I had no idea what Nolan was here for or why, but I had to protect my brothers.
I reared back and landed a punch on Nolan’s jaw, the skin on my knuckles splitting.
He staggered but didn’t go down. When he got his bearings, he kicked out at me.
I dodged his first few attempts and swung at him, but Nolan blocked and caught me with a punch to the right side of my face—white sparks burst across my vision.
Just as Nolan went to hit me, Graham crashed into his side, knocking him off-balance.
“Don’t move,” Fox barked, his voice sharp and commanding. We all turned to see Fox standing, gun raised—the one Nolan had dropped.
Nolan stilled.
I glanced around the room, taking it in: August was still down but on his knees, blood dripping down his face.
Graham had positioned himself behind Nolan, making sure he couldn’t run in the opposite direction.
My cheek throbbed, but I didn’t think I was bleeding.
The fire in the storage room was growing fast—flames licking through the gap in the doors we’d broken through.
Heat pressed at my back, a grim reminder that time was running out.
We needed to get Palmer and leave here. Fast.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Fox snapped at Nolan. “Put your hands up, and listen to our instructions. You’ll come out of this fine.”
Nolan’s chest heaved as he wiped at his bleeding mouth. He was shaking. “No, I won’t be fine.”
“Nolan, stop this!” I shouted, my voice cracking.
Something in the way his expression shifted signaled to me this was about to go very bad. My heart shuttered.
“I’m sorry.” Nolan sounded absolutely wrecked. “I can’t go back now.”
And with that, Nolan rushed at me, his face twisted with rage and sorrow. There was a gunshot—I flinched—and Nolan crumpled to the ground.
Everything went quiet, like there was cotton in my ears. The world slowed as I stared at Nolan’s body on the floor.
I couldn’t move.
August shook my shoulder, and the world snapped back into focus. Heat from the fire surging singed my back.
We needed to move.
But even as my brothers and I raced along the factory floor toward the catwalk, I couldn’t help looking behind at Nolan’s body. A torrent of grief surged inside my soul, but I couldn’t yield to it.
Palmer needed me.