Page 26

“Perimeter secure.” Bruiser’s voice, low and urgent, cuts through my thoughts. “Double the patrols. The boss says no one goes in or out without authorization.”
My breath catches.
Something’s definitely up.
But what?
I strain my ears, trying to catch any whisper of information, but the guards are quiet, communicating in terse nods and meaningful glances. The silence is worse than their usual taunts and threats.
Exhaustion tugs at me, a lead weight threatening to pull me under. How long have we been here? The hours blur together, marked only by meager rations and bursts of brutality.
Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford, not when every moment could be our last.
My stomach growls with a hollow ache that’s become a constant companion. The last “meal”—if you can call moldy bread and lukewarm water a meal—feels like a lifetime ago. I’d kill for one of those overpriced food truck tacos I used to treat myself to on a good sales day.
A muffled groan from the cell next to ours snaps me back to reality. The new guy. Daniel. Another poor soul caught in this nightmare.
“Hey,” I whisper, pressing close to the chain-link fence separating us. “You okay over there?”
A pause, then a bitter laugh. “Define ‘okay.’ ” His voice is rough, pain evident in every syllable. “Turns out being a trust fund brat doesn’t count for much here.”
“What’s your story?” I ask, desperate for any distraction from our bleak reality.
“Rich dad, expensive habits. Thought I was untouchable.” Another harsh laugh, ending in a wet cough that makes me wince in sympathy. “Guess the Night Pack had other ideas.”
Night Pack. The name sends a chill down my spine. And now we’re caught in their web.
“How’d they get you?” I press, keeping my voice low—no need to attract unwanted attention.
Daniel shifts, chains clinking. “Stupid, really. I met this guy at a club. Thought I was in for a good time. Next I know, I’m waking up here. Guess Daddy’s money wasn’t enough this time.”
My fingers trace the burn scar on my wrist, a souvenir from my first lesson in using fire as a distraction. The convenience store owner never saw me slip out the back while his dumpster blazed.
Sometimes, a small spark is all you need to survive another day.
My mind races, piecing together the fragments of information. A pattern emerges. Aria was snatched off the street in broad daylight. Daniel was lured with the promise of pleasure.
Me?
Hell, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, playing hero to a stranger.
Myself aside, I can’t help asking why.
What’s the endgame?
A clatter of metal on metal jerks me back to the present. Guards checking weapons, movements sharp with nervous energy. Soft Eyes fumbles with his rifle, earning a sharp reprimand from Bruiser.
Whatever’s got them spooked, it’s getting closer.
Then, as if summoned by some silent signal, the shadows come alive. Men materialize from hidden corners and concealed doorways, their movements fluid and practiced. One by one, they approach Bruiser, their faces hard masks of anticipation.
I count them silently. Five… eight… twelve in total. Each armed to the teeth, checking magazines and adjusting body armor with practiced ease. These aren’t the usual thugs. The military precision of their movements sets my nerves on edge.
Bruiser speaks to each in turn, voice too low to make out the words, but his gestures are clear enough. Points of entry, lines of sight, kill zones. They’re setting up a perimeter. Not to keep us in but to keep something out.
Not out.
Bruiser’s not setting up a perimeter. He’s creating a kill zone. I take note of every man and where Bruiser sends them.