'I'll protect you as best I can, Matt. Within the law.' Buddy lowered his weapon, crossed to his son.
Matt's gaze flicked to Avery's. In his she saw triumph.
'Buddy!' she cried, seeing the switchblade cupped in Mart's palm. 'It's a trick!'
Matt lunged forward, catching his father by surprise. The blade popped out. He buried it in the side of Buddy's neck.
'No!' Avery screamed. A look of surprise crossed the older man's face; he reached up to grab the blade. Matt twisted it, then yanked it out. Blood sprayed.
Buddy looked at his son, mouth working. He took a step. Wobbled, then crashed to the floor.
Avery turned to run. Matt grabbed her around the middle, dragged her to his chest and brought the blade to her throat. She saw that his hand was splattered with blood. His father's blood.
'See, Avery? Weak. Stupid.' He gazed down at his father's still-twitching form. 'And a traitor as well.'
She saw no remorse in his expression. No regret. 'You're crazy. A psychotic, murdering son of a bitch!'
'I'm a soldier. I'm fighting for something bigger than you or I or an old man who'd forgotten what was important.' He bent and retrieved his father's handcuffs. Wrenching an arm behind her back, Matt cuffed one wrist, then the next.
He turned his emotionless gaze on her. 'You have been judged and found guilty, Avery Chauvin. Of crimes against this community. Of attempting to bring an end to a way of life that has existed for a century. The Seven will decide your fate.'
CHAPTER 53
Avery fought to keep hysteria at bay as Matt forced her deeper into the bowels of the charred canning factory. The odor, simply unpleasant from the outside, turned foul inside. Overpowering, like the stench of the grave.
Her throat and eyes burned. She saw that parts of the interior, though fire damaged, were still intact. Here and there a wall stood, oddly unmarred. A piece of untouched furniture sat beside a gaping hole in the flooring, as if the flames had been fickle, choosing one but not another.
Matt nudged her forward, gun between her shoulder blades. Obviously, he had spent a good bit of time here. Though the place was as dark as the devil's will, he guided her through the charred landscape without hesitation.
He pressed his mouth to her ear. 'We're going up. But watch your step, you wouldn't want to miss your date with my generals.'
'Go to hell.'
He laughed, the sound delighted. 'We're there, don't you think?'
She did, though she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response.
They made their way up the fire-ravaged stairs. As they did he murmured directions in her ear, 'Step left, skip the next stair, go all the way right.'
She stumbled and righted herself, a difficult feat without her arms for balance. He didn't offer a hand and she sensed he enjoyed watching her struggle. That her discomfort amused him.
Finally at the top landing, she could see. A portion of the roof was gone and moonlight spilled through the opening, revealing a rabbit's warren of doors, hallways and half walls.
They stopped in front of a closed door fixed with a padlock. 'We're here,' he said.
He took his eyes off her as he unlocked the door. She glanced back toward the stairs. She could take her chances, run. But how far would she get before she stumbled, fell through the floor or he shot her in the back? Two steps? A half-dozen?
'Go ahead,' he murmured as if reading her thoughts. 'Take your chance. As you lay bleeding to death from internal injuries, you'll beg me to finish you off with a bullet.'
'Bastard.'
'You think so, that's understandable, I suppose.' He unfastened the padlock, swung the door open. 'But future generations will hold me up as a hero. A visionary.'
'Future generations?' she spat. 'You'll be reviled, then forgotten as you rot in a cell at Angola. Or the Feliciana Forensic Facility for the Criminally Insane in Jackson.'
'Poor Avery,' he murmured. 'Blind like the others. In you go.' He grabbed her arm and shoved her violently through the door. Without her arms to break her fall, she landed on her knees, then pitched forward. Her chin struck the concrete floor.
Matt chuckled as he slammed and locked the door behind her. She managed to get to her feet, ran to the door. She threw herself against it. 'Bastard!' she shouted, kicking it. 'You won't get away with this!'
'Don't waste your energy, there's no way out.'
The whispered advice came from behind her. Avery whirled around. 'Gwen?'
'The one and only.'
Avery searched the interior, eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness. 'Where are you?'
'Here.'
She saw her then, on the floor, pressed into the far corner. Avery hurried to her side and knelt beside her. 'Thank God, I thought…I thought you-'
'Were dead. I did, too.'
Avery saw that she was hurt. The right side of her head was crusted with dried blood, her blond hair matted with it.
Avery pictured the blood on Gwen's bathroom door. He must have knocked her out. 'When did he do it?'
'The storm,' Gwen whispered. 'I awoke, he was there, in my room. I thought he was going to kill me. But he brought me here, instead.' Gwen bent and rested her forehead against Avery's. 'I prayed you'd come. But not this way.'
With the police.
But Matt was the police.
'We're going to get out of this.' Avery frowned. 'He said The Seven would decide my fate. I think they're meeting here tonight.'
'He's going to kill us, isn't he?'
He or one of his generals. 'Let's not think about that now.' Avery moved her gaze over the room's walls. Judging by its size and the shelving along one wall, the room had been a storage closet. 'Have you looked for a way out?'
'There's none.'
'You're sure?'
'Yes.' Gwen's voice broke. 'I don't want to die, Avery. Not now. Not like this.'
'We will if we give up, that's for sure. Can you stand?'
She nodded and, using the wall for leverage, inched to her feet.
'Good,' Avery murmured. 'Our only shot may be trying to over-power him when he comes for us. One of us can rush him while the other goes for his gun. Or runs.'
It sounded lame even to Avery's own ears. Overpower Matt? Her arms were secured behind her back and Gwen was almost too weak to stand. But she refused to give up. Refused to die without a fight.
'All right,' Gwen said, though her voice quivered. 'You tell me what to do and I'll do it.'
A rapping sound caught her attention. Avery stilled, listening. It had come from behind the shelves.
The sound came again and Avery realized what it was. Matt, calling The Seven to order.
'Come on, Gwen. Let's see if we can move these shelves.'
The shelves were metal and heavy, though not bolted in place. Together they eased one unit away from the wall, Gwen using her arms, Avery her body as a wedge.
They managed to create a space big enough to slip behind.
Once behind the shelves Avery found herself, absurdly, reassured by the small, tight space. It felt safe. Like a womb. Like a child's perfect hiding place. The one where nobody could ever find her.
As a kid she'd had several. She'd been good at hide-and-seek, had had the ability to slip into nooks and
