Page 34 of The Vigilante's Lover

The next morning I head out to Aunt Bea’s old shed for the axe. I sling it over my shoulder like a badass as I head back into the kitchen.

I’m going to get in that hatch, even if I have to destroy the floor.

More breadcrumbs are scattered across the counter. I should have thrown the food out. But at least if I keep the mouse fed, it will stay in this room and not explore the house.

I shudder and almost drop the axe.

Don’t think about the mouse, Mia.

Still, I leave the back door open wide as an invitation for the rodent to leave. It has to be lonely, like me, all locked up with nobody to talk to.

The hatch is exactly as I left it, shut tight. I spread my feet wide, trying to get a nice steady base to strike from. I don’t have a lot of space.

I raise the axe over my head and the sharp corner scrapes the ceiling, sending down a shower of plaster. I blink from the dust, resting the axe on my shoulder. Aunt Bea would kill me if she saw what I was doing to her house.

Although I guess it’s mine now.

I lift the axe again, being more careful this time. Then I slam it down in the middle of the floor.

It cuts cleanly into the wood, but a ringing noise of metal on metal blasts my ears. The reverberation from the strike travels all the way up my arms.

I jerk on the axe and dislodge it from the floor. I kneel closer. A shine of steel glints between the splintered planks. The dang thing is lined with metal.

I bring the axe down again, this time shattering a plank. More of the steel door is revealed.

I keep hacking at it until most of the hatch is uncovered, hoping there will be a lock or a handle.

But even once I have a major hole, bits of wood all over the floor, I spot nothing but the crack along the rectangular edge of the metal trapdoor.

I sit on the floor among the wreckage, even more disheartened than before. My hands are screaming, red and bruised. At least two blisters are forming. I should have worn gloves.

And I have gotten nowhere. I’m no closer to opening this secret door than I was before I destroyed the floor.

I stumble to my feet and lean the axe against the shelves in the pantry. I’ll clean up the mess later.

I can call someone, hire somebody who can cut metal. But I don’t know what’s down there. And for all I know, the people watching me would keep him from coming inside to do the job.

I have to face facts. I’m not going to be a Vigilante. I’m not going to go on more dangerous excursions or escape high-security silos.

And I will never see Jax again.

I sit at the kitchen table, picturing Aunt Bea on the other side, wearing a faded housecoat and pouring a cup of tea. My throat wells up. She was my last and only family. I’m really and truly on my own.

It’s time to move on with my life. Figure out what I want to do next.

It won’t be here.