Page 76

They shove us forward, and the asphalt scrapes under my sneakers as they march us toward the black SUVs. Bruiser’s voice grates at the back of my mind, but my thoughts race in a different direction, slow pieces of a puzzle coming together, one by one.
The shoes.
The same ratty sneakers I’ve been wearing since this nightmare began. When they yanked me off the streets, they left me with nothing but the clothes on my back and these shoes. I wore them when Blaze rescued me, dragging me out of that hellhole and into the safe house. He gave me new clothes, but these sneakers are the one thing that came with me, untouched.
Could they have …?
The thought creeps in, slow and sticky like the dread that curls in my gut. How they found us every time, no matter how many times we ran, or how many places we hid.
I glance down, the worn-out soles scuffing the pavement, a threadbare reminder of everything I’ve been through. My stomach twists, the realization snaking its way through my chest, squeezing tighter with every step.
No time to dwell on it. They shove us into an SUV, tinted windows cutting us off from the world. The engine roars, and we’re off to God knows where.
The ride is long and disorienting. Every sharp turn jerks me in the seat, and each pothole rattles my bones. Blaze’s solid, steady warmth beside me is the only thing anchoring me, keeping the panic from spiraling out of control.
After the vehicle lurches to a stop, they yank open the door. Blinking hard, the sudden brightness stings like sunlight after being buried in darkness too long.
We’re in an underground parking garage, all concrete and cold shadows. The air smells damp and metallic, like rust and stale gasoline. Dim fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a sickly yellow hue on the cracked cement floor. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the low ceiling amplifying every footstep, the echo bouncing off the bare concrete.
The faint drip of water hits somewhere in the shadows, rhythmic, unnerving. Everything about this place screams forgotten, abandoned, like we’re buried deep beneath the world above.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” Bruiser sneers, his voice thick with satisfaction. “The boss is eager to meet you.”
They shove us forward again, out of the parking garage and toward a dark opening in the far wall. A heavy metal door groans as they drag it open, leading us away from the emptiness of the garage into a claustrophobic maze of narrow corridors.
The shift is immediate—gone are the open spaces, replaced by dimly lit concrete tunnels that twist and turn with no end in sight.
Each step pulls me deeper into the maze, the walls closing tighter with every turn. The air turns thick, stale, almost suffocating. The hum of distant machinery fades as the corridors stretch further, the low ceiling scraping at the edges of my awareness. The place feels endless like it’s swallowing us whole.
It reminds me of the tunnels under the city, where I hid when the streets got too dangerous. Just like back then, the air’s heavy with decay, thick with the smell of damp concrete and something metallic.
My stomach churns.
Blood.
Finally, we emerge into a massive underground chamber. It’s like something out of a nightmare—vast concrete walls stretch high above, disappearing into darkness. Rusted pipes crisscross the ceiling, sagging cables hanging like forgotten nooses. Water drips somewhere, echoing off the walls. The air is cold and damp and reeks of mildew, metal, and something far worse.
Bruiser shoves us into a tiny room, nothing but two chairs and a table beneath a single sad-ass lightbulb swaying overhead—it’s like something out of a bad interrogation scene.
His grin’s all teeth and cruelty, the kind that promises pain. Blaze tenses beside me.
“Sit tight,” Bruiser sneers, stepping closer, his boots thudding on the concrete. “The fun’s about to begin.”
Without warning, Bruiser throws a brutal punch into Blaze’s gut, hard enough to make the air rush out of him. The sound of the hit echoes off the walls as Blaze doubles over, but he doesn’t go down. His jaw clenches, muscles rippling, but he stays standing, eyes burning with barely contained fury.
Bruiser chuckles, clearly satisfied with his cheap shot, and saunters out, slamming the door behind him.
The harsh light buzzes overhead, casting long, ugly shadows on the walls. I glance over at Blaze, his breath’s coming out in sharp, controlled bursts. He straightens slowly, brushing off the hit like it was nothing.
“You okay?” My voice is quiet, cutting through the thick air between us.
His gaze flicks to mine, hard and unflinching, but there’s a flicker of something beneath the surface—worry, maybe, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.
“I’m fine.” His tone’s clipped, dismissive, like he’s brushing off a paper cut instead of a gut punch. He doesn’t wait for me to push further. “How are you doing?”
“As fine as I can be while Zip Tied in some underground torture chamber. Real cozy in here.”
“Cozy?” His expression turns into a smirk. “That’s one way of putting it.”