Page 185 of Ravaged Soul

“Shit! This is a bad idea with just two of us.”

“What if there are more?” Her eyes coast over my face in a frenzy. “We can’t leave them!”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Please, Ax. Gracie could still be here.”

Clenching the flashlight tightly, I turn it on the staircase. It descends into a hole in the floor, creating another access point to the level below. No sound emanates from downstairs. Not a single shout nor sign of movement.

“Fuck this,” I growl in frustration. “Alright, come on.”

“Want me to take the light?”

“Yes. Keep alert, there may be more guards.”

“You too.” Ember holds her hand out for the flashlight.

Passing it over, I wait for her to light the staircase better then take the first steps down. Together, we tackle the spindly metal guiding us into the next circle of hell.

The air is cold and stagnant, bereft of any life. Dirt-coated floorboards are illuminated by grimy windows and Ember’s light, unveiling the lower level. Immediately, toxic chemicals burn my nostrils.

The room is huge, filled with workbenches not unlike the setup of Blaine’s base. But rather than being wiped of allevidence like his, this place looks like it was abandoned mid-session.

All manner of drug paraphernalia litters each bench. From burnt out pans to stained test tubes and crumpled packets of household ingredients, there’s no questioning where Madden got his extensive hoard upstairs from. All cooked and assembled in house.

“What is that smell?” Ember’s nose crunches up.

“Ammonia.” I cough into my hand.

“Like… a meth lab?”

“It’s cheap and easy to batch create. I’m not surprised Madden’s dabbling in the trade.”

We creep into the middle of the room, surrounded by a mounting pile of evidence. Honestly, it’s fucking sloppy. I really expected better. Either he wants to get caught or he doesn’t care enough about this portion of the business to cover his tracks.

“It’s like he has the place divided up by business function.” I look around the huge mess. “Preparation, storage and transport.”

“Transport?” Ember repeats.

“Most victims aren’t taken to be sent into illegal fighting pits, Em. Drug trafficking goes hand in hand with the skin trade.”

“Jesus. You think Madden’s trafficking people to transport his narcotics?”

“I’d bet my life on it.”

From what I understand, it’s the one step he wasn’t able to take while running his operation from London. Blaine prevented his father from securing that final expansion. It seems he’s perfected his illegal trade since setting up shop alone, without his son’s oversight.

We quietly traipse onwards, clearing another large room set up near identically. Big enough to house an operation that would feed a whole country’s underground drug trade. At the head ofthe room, a desk seems to preside in a position of authority, granting its occupant a view of all the benches.

“The boss’s throne.” I wave towards it.

“You think Madden handles this personally?”

“I doubt he’d outsource ever again after losing Blaine and his stake in the empire. You don’t rebuild this level of infrastructure in a matter of years without fighting for your place in the market.”

“He has help too,” she adds. “Gael.”

“I’d imagine he’s the ideal friend if this is your legacy.”