Steps lead up to a large solid door, and I climb them, but the door doesn’t budge.
I return to the yard. A large roller door at the far end of the building is slightly open. A plastic barrel is keeping it up; regardless of whether it was left there intentionally or lodged by mistake, I dip down and look in. The space isn’t dark; plenty of light from yellow-tinted windows pours into the enormous space. I roll under the door and stand up with a gun in hand. I listen before I start to move. Barrels are stacked everywhere, and I move carefully around them. Another large chain-link fence has been set up in the center of the warehouse, the large square is coated in black sacks, but some of them have ripped away, which allows me to see several dirty mattresses on the ground.
The girls must have been here, but they aren’t anymore.
A chain that keeps the fence together lies on the ground. I move through the small gap. The black sacks on either side rustle as I step into the space. I count six mattresses, and at each, a set of chains. Old food sits at the end of the beds.
Blood on one set of chains has me thinking of Evie, imagining her chained here and forced to lie on a dirty mattress. I leave the small pit and look around the rest of the ground floor of the warehouse.
I slip my gun back into the band of my trousers and get ready to leave when five men step out from behind the rows of barrels blocking me from leaving.
They circle me, and I glance at each of them and take in their positions just like I was trained to do. I only needed to keep one alive. The rest could die.
I raise my hands slowly and bring them to the back of my neck, where two of my throwing blades are positioned. The five men hold their swords at the ready as I dip down like I’m ready to surrender and fall to my knees.
I take the knives in my hands and let them fly from both sides of me. They hit their targets perfectly. The General would have been proud. The other three charge, and I remove two more from their pouches in the band of my trousers. I’m running sideways away from them, and when I reach the barrels, turn and launch one at the first man. It embeds itself in the man’s forehead, taking him down. The two other men have to dance across him, and it gives me a moment to pull out my gun.
I dodge a sword that cracks into the barrel and dance away while releasing my knife that embeds itself into the man’s arm. It slows him down but doesn’t stop him and the last man from charging.
Something catches my leg, and I hit the ground hard, roll as the blade sparks across the ground. Once I stop rolling, I fire two shots into the man’s face.
The last man disappears behind the barrels. He’s one I need alive. I stand up to see it’s a bundle of ropes I tripped across.
“If you give me some answers, I’ll let you live,” I say while holding my gun and watching for him to rise from the barrels.
Silence screams back at me, and I turn in time to see him. He charges me with his raised sword. I bend, but it slices into my cheek, and I empty the gun into his face while moving away.
My face is on fire, and I curse him as I remove my jacket and press it to my cheek to slow down the bleeding.
Every man was dead. I had no one to question. I move around the bodies and gather up my throwing knives while checking them for ID, tattoos, or anything that could identify them, but I find nothing on any of the bodies.
Once outside, I take the jacket away from my face, and the wind sends more pain slicing across my cheek. Blood still oozes from the wound, but I don’t think it’s at a dangerous level.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I consider ringing Nicolai. He would come, but he wasn’t the man for the job. I had grown up with Nevs at Camp, and he had become a very famous tracker. He didn’t work for anyone in particular, but if the price was right, he would do the job.
I dial his number.
Heavy breathing on the phone makes me think I’ve rung the wrong number until I hear his deep voice.
“I’m in the middle of something.” He sounds like he’s jogging. “What do you want?”
The fact he answered makes me continue.
“I have an urgent job I need you for.”
“Message me the details and price, and I’ll let you know.” He hangs up, and I pocket my phone.
My face aches as I make my way back down the alleyway. Boxes move, and I withdraw my gun, my finger on the trigger. A dirty face that has gray, old eyes staring out at me has me putting the gun away.
“You live here?” I ask the guy while pressing my jacket against my face again.
His weary eyes are focused on the band of my trousers where my gun disappeared. “Sure do.”
I take the jacket away from my face and wince.
“Did you see anything lately?” I point at the warehouse. “Anyone at the warehouse?”
He
