Page 14 of Crave

That man is dangerous.

My father’s words resounded from the day St. James and his Sons came to see us. It wasn’t that dad didn’t trust him…more like wary. The guy as resourceful and just as fucking ruthless as we were…as was his sons.

I remembered that night at the fight. The one where Carven killed a man…

He’d been thrown out.

But fuck he was terrifying.

I shook my head and clicked out of the email. St. James and his weird ass fucking offspring wasn’t someone I wanted to associate with. The Order.

The browser was still up, the expensive looking building ominous on the webpage. I turned around, glancing at the rumpled sheets. There was no more sleep for me tonight. Not now. Probably not ever. I strode to the bathroom, hit the light and yanked my shirt over my head, wincing at the sting. In the mirror I saw all the claw marks.

Jesus.

I shoved my jeans down low, hit the taps and stepped into the shower. The sting was instant, leaving me to drop my head under the hot spray. The recording played in my mind as I washed. The longer it did, the angrier I became.

I washed and stepped out, wrapping a towel around my dripping body and headed back into my bedroom.The Order.That place lingered as I pulled on jeans, a t-shirt and then my boots before I grabbed my black helmet and strode out, heading for the rear of the house.

The sun was slowly rising, lightening the night sky at the edge of the horizon. I made for my bike, pulled on my helmet and climbed on. The engine started instantly, vibrating between my thighs. Lights were bright, spilling along the driveway before I kicked it into gear and surged forward, driving along the house, then turned, making my way toward the freeway, heading out of the city.

My mom…

My fucking sister.

All those fucking times she could’ve said something, not even to the cops…but to me. She stood at that doorway seeing their bodies. She saw what my father did…and yet, she said nothing.

I clenched my jaw and pushed the bike harder, pulling onto the on-ramp. I moved around those heading to work, carving in and out, pushing to make the amber street lights until I pulled off the freeway and was out of the city.

I didn’t come out here, not where the mountains waited and the trees grew close to the road. I stayed in the city, hiding away in underground street racing and illegal fights. I stayed in the dark, coming out into the light when my father needed me.

Now, he needed me more than ever.

I pulled out my cell, glanced at the GPS and slowed the bike, taking a turn up ahead and headed for the thick forest. The sun glinted off steel in the distance, drawing my focus to the ten-foot high fence that was topped with razor wire.

Razor wire for a religious organization seemed a little…excessive. A gnawing in my gut grew as I slowed the bike, coasting past where the wire had been cut. Up ahead the guard hut was destroyed and the chain around the gates were cut and open. Someone had been here…I scanned the dirt and the washed out tire tracks—although not recently.

I edged the bike close, yanked the gate, widening it enough for me to slip through. All I saw were trees as I drove closer until I turned and found the sprawling brick building.

It didn’t look like the photographs now. The windows were smashed and it looked like someone had forced entrance,leaving the door wide open. I pulled the bike up and killed the engine before climbing off. The place didn’t look any better when I removed my helmet, in fact it looked worse.

Dirty and ruined. The place felt abandoned. I climbed the steps and pushed open the front door, listening for any sounds. But there was none, leaving me to step in. I had no idea what I was looking for…but the moment I stepped through the foyer leaving the false pretense of the church behind I knew this was the place from the video.

It had that sinister feel.

My boots resounded against the empty hallways. Locked double doors were now wide open. I glanced at the dead access points then pushed though to find the empty rooms, stopping at the doorway to peer inside. An empty cot was shoved in the corner, the bedding still rumpled. I scanned the rest of this tiny, soulless room. This place wasn’t a church…it was a goddamn prison.

I kept walking, making my way along the halls to a cafeteria, then headed toward the back. There was blood splatter on the walls…and a darkened patch on the floor. “What the fuck happened here?”

There were no reports on the web. Nothing apart from the dead asshole who founded this place. The guy St. James had been convinced was alive. But as I walked along the hallway and stopped at some kind of medical wing I realised maybe St. James was telling the truth.

I moved on, pushing through unlocked doors to a wing that looked like offices…and amongst them rooms large enough for a group. Three doors down I glanced into the glass to freeze. Therewas a bed there. The same, generic type that was in the video. Was this it? Was this the place?

My knuckles ached as I gripped the handle and pushed it open.

It was there, in the middle of the room, just like it’d been in the recording. I stepped inside, glancing at the tripod set up for recording. “Motherfucker.”

Beep.