33

The grainy stone floor is icy-cold, and it seeps up the pores from the soles of my feet, practically coagulating my blood from my toes up. A shiver runs up my leg and it"s as if ants are rushing up my body. But I don't want to say shit. I should've stolen a jacket from one of the fuckers who dragged me to the cave-like cellar. I can't believe how easy it'd been to take their asses down.

To be fair, it isn't so much the cold and my lack of attire that's got me frazzled. It's the mere situation I find myself in. If you would've asked me just three months ago what I thought I'd be doing on a Saturday evening, walking barefoot through a maze-like, underground lair that belongs to el cerro, wouldn't have even made it to my list.

I can practically feel Dylan's eyes scanning my frame from behind. His looming presence is enough to warm me from the inside out. It reminds me of one of my dad's famous cookouts. My mom had placed the lid over our coal burning grill and it snuffed the fire out. She'd suffocated it. My dad explained how, in order for the fire to thrive, it needed oxygen. He demonstrated, and we all watched, amazed as if he were a scientist and we were his pupils, enthralled by his experiment. My dad used a thick cardboard to ignite the fire, feeding it puffs of air. The flames grew so high my mom thought the leaves on the massive trees would catch fire! Dylan is like a gentle yet powerful breeze, igniting my soul back to life. Who knew he'd quickly become indelible. It's as if he alone supplies the oxygen my lungs required in order to expand. What the fuck has this rookie done to me?

I don't dare sneak a glance back. Instead, I focus on Charles, who's shoving Carlton forward down the narrow passageway. We've been walking for seven minutes, but it feels like a fucking eternity. My stomach growls and I clear my throat. I hope nobody heard that, but just as I send my silent prayer out, Dylan presses his front to my back. We keep a steady walk, his feet moving in unison with mine so we don't collide and collapse. Dylan snakes his hand around my torso and lowers his head so his lips brush the side of my face. He lingers near my temple.

"Cuándo fue la última vez que comiste?"he whispers.

I want to answer him, but I have no fucking idea when the last time I ate was, so I shrug. Dylan responds by taking in a ragged breath, and with a smack of his lips, he tsks three times.

"Coming into battle famished isn't a good idea, little fox."

I smack my own lips in retort, but he's right. I'm fucking starving. "Noted."

He chuckles softly and all too suddenly, his body stiffens against mine. Dylan takes a small step back, alarming me. Has our path changed? Is someone coming up behind us? Is Carlton trying to escape?

Nothing's happened. We're still languidly making our way through the dimly lit corridor, the cement block tunnel looming as ever. But what made him pull back? I sneak a peek at him and watch as he stares into space. His head is cocked to the side and his lips are in a tight, firm line. He gives a curt nod with a single word response, and I know it's Jason who"s just spoken about something that's altered his mood.

I'm about to ask what's gone wrong when Carlton clears his throat.

"They're past that safe."

"Vales pura mierda, a fucking safe?"

Charles speaking Spanish is almost enough to distract me from the mammoth safe before us. Almost. He shoves Carlton forward and el cerro falls to his knees, then yells obscenities at us.

Dylan walks up to him and forcefully yanks him up. "Fucking open it. No games. Do it now."

Dylan is like the fucking elements mixing into one colossal force, ready to destroy anything in its path, like a goddamn apocalypse. He may have the unnerving power to heat me to my core, but just as equally, he can bring grown men to a bowing position. El cerro wants to protest, but I watch as his body literally folds inward. Utter fear cripples him in place; he gapes at Dylan and his fingers twitch. He's terrified and doesn't know what the fuck else to do other than give in to Dylan's barked orders. El cerro fumbles forward, he looks like a toddler taking their first wobbly steps to then collapse into loving arms. Only el cerro trips on air and his conjoined wrists buckle against the pressure of the zip ties. They're on tight and they cut into his skin as he tumbles forward and hits the safe face first.

Carlton grunts and tries to stand straight, but the fear wracks his body. Charles sighs tiredly, but he lifts him up and positions him to stand in front of the keypad.

After punching a sequence of digits, he stands slightly back. "Pull the lever." El cerro's voice squeaks like a boy going through puberty.

Charles reaches for the handle and turns it. A loud, skull cracking sound breaks the air, splintering shards of its aftermath into our brains. It echoes down the cellar and is followed by a long ring.

"Fuck!" Dylan barks.

Charles points his gun at Carlton. "Turn it off or I'll fucking shoot. Don't play with me."

El cerroteeters past the large metal door and punches buttons onto a small keypad hidden on the inner portion of the doorframe. Three loud beeps silence the blaring alarm and I finally lower my hands. I hadn't even noticed my palms flew in an attempt to shield my ears from the attack.

Piper's man shuffles his shoulders and wiggles his gun, tapping the cerro's shoulder. "If you haven't noticed, saving your prisoners isn't my priority. Any more surprises and I blow your head off."

"If you don't care about being a hero, then why are you helping them?"

Charles's eyes meet mine, and he hesitates. It isn't wise to let Carlton know that we wouldn't be here if his daughter hadn't helped us. El cerro is fucking blind anyhow, it's obvious to anyone who sees Charles and Piper side by side, he would burn the world to the ground if she asked him to. I sweep in so that he doesn't have to respond. Not like he would. Charles looks like the type of man who does what he wants when he wants. Unless it's his redheaded goddess divine asking shit of him, of course.

"What the fuck do you think this is, tea time? Shut up and walk."

"You," Carlton muses in his garbled voice and glares at me. "Your little blog isn't enough, you had to drag in the reputable Dylan Montreal?"

I didn't drag Dylan into anything. In fact, he forced his way into my life so thoroughly I was shocked he hadn't shown up at my daytime jobs. Though I doubt he wasn't watching. But the cerro's voice strikes a chord in me and not a soft lullaby-like tone you'd hear from a violin.

It happens in a flash—I elevate the gun in my hands and drop it, making it slash across his cheek. "I told you to shut the fuck up."

Every sinister occurrence delivered by his hand beams before my lids, like lightning dancing across a dark skyline. The photograph of the frightened little girl, Piper's sunken eyes, Macy's battered body, the fifteen-year-old girl he fondled at the club, and just my inner thoughts of the most fucked up shit imaginable.

Charles avoids meeting my eyes, and he forces Carlton to stand so that he can continue to guide us through this shit hole in the ground. El cerro's cheek is torn and his blood trickles down to his white collar. He winces, but moves past the new opening.

The safe revealed a long corridor with a direct turn into a prison. Metal bars stand between us and about a dozen people.

"Fuck."

My voice is meek, depleted, and fucking agonized by what I see. My bottom lip wobbles and I tuck it between my teeth. I can't break down now, not here. Dylan walks past me and holsters his gun. He's giving clear directions to Jason so that his team can find us in the labyrinth we're buried under. But I'm not listening. His words are muffled between my breaths, heart pounding in my throat, and my blood boiling in my fucking ears.

As far as we can tell, not one person is over any age that would qualify them to be a consenting adult. Children. They all gather in one corner of their cell, crouched closely together in a sign of collective fear. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Charles instructs Carlton to turn around and sit on the ground, with his back facing the victims. He wants them to see we're here to help and that we've apprehended their captor. In all the chaos, I've managed to remain in control. Not once did I feel as though Carlton would get away tonight. Specifically, after his men brought me into the cellar. They assumed I was a hurt dove or something, a fractured girl longing for a savior. I won't deny I was terrified, but I learned years ago how to channel the adrenaline and train myself from freezing during a time of chaos. But this. No mental or physical training could've prepared me for this.

I bend down until my knees hold my weight, and I grip the cold bars in my hands. It's my only anchor–they keep me in place before I deteriorate into vapor and suffocate Carlton from the inside like a noxious gas. Obviously, that's not possible–this isn't a fantasy. But here's hoping. A little girl's breath hitches, and it reminds me that I'm on the free side of the bars. Pull yourself together.

"You're safe now," I whisper.

During my little moment of weakness, Charles had pulled Carlton off to the side, delivering fist after fist that was supposed to convince him to cooperate and open the fucking prison cell. I don't know how long I"ve been on my knees, but the kids on the other side of the bars have moved closer. I realize they're within reach when someone's fingers softly lace over mine, and I stare past the iron ingot to meet several skeptical eyes. Carlton suddenly starts to laugh, and it startles the few kids who've gotten near me, and they crawl back to their corner of safety.

"Get them out."

I know it's my voice, but I don't recognize it. It's harsh, tormented, and hoarse–as if my screams were real and not just in my head.

Dylan's hands wrap around my shoulders and he pulls me up to crush me against his iron grip. He twists me around, and I get a glimpse of the room. It's surrounded by what looks like a fucking SWAT team.

El cerroisn't laughing anymore, instead he's pleading for his life and swearing that this is all some terrible mistake. Everyone ignores him.

I roll my eyes. "You're so fucking pathetic." He stiffens but manages to glare at me.

"Open the cell immediately," Dylan orders. "And get this piece of shit out of here."

A full tactical team surrounds us, and two men huddle near the bars and produce an electric saw. Another gives the victims instructions, and he slips them a tarp and tells them to get underneath so their eyes are shielded from the metal shards that will fly toward them.

Dylan holds me close, but everything is a blur. Three men force el cerro to stand and they haul him out. Charles leans on the wall, staring at the ground blankly. Dylan is barking directions. But I'm frozen in place. I vaguely feel when Dylan wraps me in a wool blanket and squeezes my shoulders. I feel the instant he leaves my side. Dylan approaches the men working on getting the bars open, and I move to stand next to Charles, who brings a cigarette to his lips and inhales deeply.

"Some Saturday night, huh?"

"Way to break up a party, kid."

I roll my eyes. "Not you too?" Kid. What makes both Piper and Charles think that the five- to-seven-year gap between us is enough to consider me a child?

It's my first time witnessing a smile ghost Charles's face, but it disappears before its completion. "I assume you kept your promise."

I round my shoulders and wiggle. The tiny rectangular piece of metal digs at the skin under my breast and I smile at him. "I'm offended you even feel the need to ask."

Charles's jaw tenses and his lips go taut. "I want to be there when you deliver it."

I give him a lazy nod. Of course he would. Anyone else would think he isn't a man, but a fucking robot. He's so serious—a look of stoic resignation and sheer embodiment of a soldier at a kill zone—it's unnerving. But whenever he talks about Piper, or if she's in his presence, he comes to life. His devotion is unmistakable.

Two officers approach us, and I think they're going to give us a couple of water bottles like they did the prisoners, but they flip us around and crush us against the wall. My chin scrapes against the grainy cement.

"You have three seconds to back the fuck up!" Charles manages. His face is pressed up against the cement wall, eyes glued to mine.

Someone, who I'm sure is Dylan, forcefully yanks my aggressor off. The wool blanket drops from my shoulders and just as I'm about to turn, I witness Dylan transform from man to beast. His upper lip furls back, his fingers wrap around the guy's neck, and he tosses him aside like a fucking gum wrapper. The armed one who'd tackled Charles apparently heard the commotion and stepped away, his expression apologetic and terrified.

"Who the fuck told you they were to be touched?"

"I did."

A guy in a gray suit waltzes in. He smooths his hand over his tie and adjusts it, even though it's perfect, then he slips his hands into his pockets. Charles leans on the wall and lights up another cigarette, and I bend down to retrieve the blanket. I don't want to be practically naked anymore. I would kill for some joggers, a t-shirt… and my sneakers.

I move to press my back against the wall and stand next to Charles. I feel like he wouldn't risk his neck for me and he'd abandon me in a second. But I also know he would never be able to face Piper if he didn't retrieve the USB before fleeing. His eyes dart between the man in the suit and Dylan, as if taking mental notes. I watch them and do just that.

Dylan stands at least five inches taller and he's packed with lean muscle. The man, however shorter, is built like a fucking rock. I imagine he's in charge because he doesn't wear tactical gear and looks completely out of place. His hair is perfectly coiffed, suit expensive and tailored to fit like a glove. An almost bored yet commanding expression on his chiseled face. He's an older man, maybe ten years Dylan's senior.

Dylan moves to stand in front of us, and I'm forced to move slightly to my left to still have the man in the suit in my vision.

"They're the reason we got this far."

"And they are… who, exactly?"

Dylan shakes his head. "None of your business, Mike."

The man, Mike, nods, and lets out a soft, nonchalant chuckle. "Okay, Dylan. Get them out of here before the feds arrive."

Dylan faces me and I can't read his blank expression. It fills me with worry and a million uncertainties bubble within.

"What about them?" I point behind me to the prisoners, who are finally being escorted out of their cell.

"They'll be safe now," Mike interrupts whatever Dylan was about to say. "I can't wait to thank you in a more appropriate setting for your dedication to bringing this case to an end."

"It isn't over," Charles mumbles, but I don't think Mike hears.

"That's unnecessary," I say. I don't really want to officially make his acquaintance and I get the feeling Dylan doesn't either.

"Nevertheless, we'll meet again soon, I hope."

"I hope not," I admit, and he laughs once more. That single calm and collected chuckle of his.

Dylan covers my body with his and presses his lips to my temple. "Come on, little fox. Time to go."

"Oh, and Dylan?" We all turn to Mike as if his call was for us–a united front, a team. "Any other material collected during the assignment, something of note?"

Dylan holds me closer. "No, nothing."

Although his tone and delivery is confident, secure, and everything else Dylan is, the USB weighs heavy against my skin, practically burning a hole and searing itself to my rib. But I'm not saying shit. This USB belongs to Piper, and I'm not breaking my promise to her.