26. Hannah

Hannah

“ I t stinks here.”

Mason cocks a brow at me, but otherwise, doesn’t say anything.

I have to admit, the truck ride from Inglewood to the heart of downtown was . . . tense. To say the least.

Neither of us is acknowledging dinner. The gun range. His fingering me at the gun range. It’s like there was this big elephant sitting in the back seat, just looking between the two of us and waiting. To be honest, I thought about faking sick tonight.

But . . . like always, Missy popped into my mind, making me feel guilty for abandoning her, so I put my big girl panties on—literally, I wore a thong in case another “situation” occurred—and joined Mason in his truck after the sun went down.

Now, we’re standing in front of what looks to be an abandoned warehouse, right outside the fashion district.

This area of town isn’t great. The poverty and crime rates are high, and while those two things don’t go hand in hand, theft and violence do. Mason parked the truck a couple blocks away, in a parking garage, and we had to hike here, so I’m glad I wore my old sneakers.

At least I’m not in a leather skirt, heels, and a corset tonight. I’d opted for a black T-shirt, black pants, and black shoes, so I at least look the part of a ninja in the night, even if I don’t feel like one.

To be honest, my stomach is cramping because I have no idea what we’re walking into.

“How the fuck do we get in?” Mason murmurs. The place is huge and if whoever has Missy is using this as some kind of base of operations, I’m willing to bet they have the place rigged to know when someone’s here.

I scan the building, though, in the dark alleyway, it’s more than difficult.

“There.”

He follows my line of sight to a busted window a couple stories up. There’s an old, teetering fire escape that I could reach with a little boost.

“Lift me up there.”

“Hannah.”

I roll my eyes. “Like you can’t pick me up?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

He looks like the ladder personally wronged his grandmother.

And then it dawns on me . . .

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“Did I say that?”

I suppress a chuckle. Mason Carpenter being afraid of anything is astounding to me.

“It’ll be fine,” I assure him and he shoots me a dark look. “It’s not even that high. You probably— definitely wouldn’t die from a three-story fall. And this thing was built back when stuff was made to last. It’s not falling off from us.” I hope.

Okay, you definitely would die, especially on the hard concrete alleyway below, but I don’t tell him that.

“Look. I don’t need scared of heights Mason, right now. I need fearless, hot, big-muscled Mason who makes me feel like I’m safe for the first time in my life.”

His jaw ticks and despite the heat burning on my cheeks, I feel triumphant at the subtle shift in his demeanor.

I got him.

With a deep sigh, he steps up behind me and I turn away so he can’t see my triumphant smile.

He places his hands around my waist and if we were anywhere besides a dirty alley that looks like rats have raised entire family trees of their offspring here, it would be hot. It still makes me blush, though mostly because when he lifts me up, my ass is nearly eye level with his face and I can’t stop thinking about this afternoon.

I grab the ladder and he hoists me higher to reach my foot to the bottom rung, slipping and almost crashing to the ground below. Mason, in his precarious position, puts a hand firmly on my ass to steady me.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mason grits under his breath and I can’t decide if it’s because he’s worried about me or because he just really doesn’t want to do this.

I’m going with the latter. Seems safer.

Hauling myself up—no easy feat because I’m not strong—I manage to make it to the first level of the fire escape, albeit, completely out of breath.

“Are you coming?”

He glares up at me but doesn’t say anything. I watch him do a little hop and reach the bottom of the ladder easily—asshole— before he’s climbing up.

“What?” he asks when he reaches the top and I just shake my head. The bastard’s not even winded. “We need to work on your stamina, little doe.”

Rude.

“My stamina was just fine this afternoon, thank you.”

He chuckles darkly but follows me as I climb the rickety stairs as quietly as I can to the third floor. We’re high up and Mason moves slower the higher we go. It’s almost sweet, seeing the big, dark, and dangerous man afraid of heights. Makes him seem more human, rather than some unobtainable god.

I crouch down in front of the busted window and work on prying the lock inside open so we can slip through. Meanwhile, Mason crouches behind me, way too close for me to focus.

“Can you back up? You’re clouding my judgment.”

“Little doe,” he says, voice rough. “Get the fucking lock open.”

I stare at him for a beat, and then it dawns on me.

And now, I’m softening for him. Honestly, who am I?

“Okay. It’s okay,” I start and as if it wants to spite me, the fire escape makes a quiet metallic groan.

I pry at the lock inside with all my might, hurting my fingers until finally, the old metal latch clicks, and I can slip the window open.

I climb through, hastily moving out of the way so Mason can join me. It’s amusing to me that his shoulders are so broad, he barely fits through the old window, but soon, he’s standing on the old concrete floor beside me.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

His jaw ticks.

“Just looks like an old office to me,” I whisper, keeping my voice low and aiming the flashlight in my hand around the room. Papers for a printing company lay scattered on the old desks and the floor, none of which are any help to us.

“Hannah,” Mason murmurs from across the room. He motions for me to join him, so I do, being careful to step over the stuff on the floor that could give us away.

“What?” I follow his flashlight. Stairs. He steps down and I follow him, keeping close behind him as we descend because even though we’re on the hunt for rogue people, ghosts are still a concern of mine and I don’t care who knows it. There’s more than just people who go bump in the night and while a person can be dealt with, a ghost, you can’t shoot.

The second floor leads to a rickety skywalk over what used to be the printing factory below, so I don’t even bother. I barely got Mason up the fire escape.

Finally, he stops at the doorway to the first floor, keeping his flashlight off and watching.

I peek under his arm and pause. Empty.

Well, shit.

There’s nothing here. The inside of the factory is completely devoid of anything, including equipment. Water sits on the low parts of the ground and some debris from the crumbling walls litters the ground, but, apart from that, there’s nothing that could lead us to Missy.

“That asshole lied to us,” I whisper, but just as I do, a thud sounds from somewhere . . . else.

Mason clicks his flashlight on the dimmest setting and points it down another set of stairs, directly behind me. My foot teeters on the edge. If I would have stepped back, I would have fallen.

I scramble away, my irrational fear of the dark taking hold for a moment and sending a shot of panic through me. Mason catches me, an arm around my waist, and aims his flashlight down.

“Come on.”

“Are you sure?”

He pauses at the top of the stairs, raising a brow. “Don’t tell me, you’re afraid of the dark.”

Asshole.

“Maybe we really are a match made in heaven,” I grumble stepping past him while he chuckles quietly.

The basement is where dreams come to die. A demon would be afraid to lurk in the dark down here, much less me. Mason is scary and all, but the never-ending darkness that seems as thick as maple syrup is next level.

“Breathe, little doe,” Mason murmurs softly as we step into what appears to be a long hallway. I say long hallway because we can only see right in front of us with the flashlight on dim.

“I’m breathing.” Barely.

“You’re shaking.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t like the dark.”

“Relax,” he says, so close to my ear I nearly jump out of my skin. I hadn’t realized he was that close. “I’m scarier than anything lurking in the dark.”

God, I hope he’s right. I open my mouth to speak, but stop when I see a door looming just out of range of the flashlight. Surprisingly . . . stupidly, the door is partially open and a light shines dimly in the crack. Mason peeks his head around the corner before pulling back and opening the door.

“Holy fucking shit,” Mason murmurs, stepping inside.

I follow him and for a moment, my eyes struggle to adjust.

Then I see the cages.

Cages line the walls. Thick, metal cages with iron padlocks like what they use in old cartoons to transport animals. They’re empty,

The room stinks . Like mold and decay and . . . death. I cover my nose with my hand and my eyes water at the stench. In the center of the room sits an old incinerator, probably used to burn the old papers that were either messed up or weren’t sold and it burns brightly, lighting up the room.

“What do you think they kept in these?” I ask quietly, though I know the answer.

Mason’s eyes are hard as he scans the room, taking in the cages and the incinerator. It’s not hard to decipher what happened here.

“Definitely not animals,” he murmurs darkly.

“Mason . . .” I grab his hand because I feel like I’m going to be sick. In the darkness beside the incinerator is a long tarp. On top of that tarp, are the bodies of four dead women.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and I gag as the scent of murder fills my nostrils and mouth. “Turn away.”

“What if it’s her?” Tears burn in my eyes, clouding my vision, but for once, I don’t see the hate on his face at the mention of Missy.

“Turn away. I’ll check.”

Forcefully, he turns me around to face the door and I hear his heavy bootfalls as he makes his way over to the corpses.

A laugh sounds above us and I freeze, all the hair on my arms standing straight up.

“ Fuck, ” Mason curses under his breath, rejoining me in the center of the room. He tugs his gun out of the back of his jeans, aiming it at the door.

“ No ,” I growl. I don’t think I could stomach him getting shot tonight. “We have to hide.”

Reluctantly, he shoves the gun back in its holster and steers me with a hand on the small of my back. I move toward the door, but he hauls me back to a small closet that I’m not sure both of us can fit in.

Mason opens the door and climbs inside and before I can react, he’s reaching forward, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in on top of him. He’s so large he barely fits, but he pulls me down onto his lap and locks me against his chest with an arm around my stomach.

Just as he shuts the door most of the way, heavy bootfalls sound from the dirty concrete floor outside.

“Why does Martinez always get to go first?” a male voice whines. Three men pass by the small crack in our door, but none of them look our way.

“Because Martinez shows up for his watch on time,” an older man retorts, pushing a cigar between his lips and lighting it with a match.

“You always rough them up too much. No one else wants them after you,” another guy says and Mason’s arms tighten around me to the point that I think he might squeeze me to death.

They all snicker and the second man opens the door of the incinerator. Fire blazes from inside, filling the already hot room with heat. A bead of sweat travels down my neck, between my breasts, but still, I don’t move.

“What are they doing?” I breathe, when the guy who complained about Martinez moves toward the women on the tarp.

Mason presses his lips against my ear, his voice so low, even I can barely hear it. “She’s not here.”

Trembles rack through me and Mason takes my hand in his, holding it firmly against my stomach as I watch in horror while two of the men lift up one of the women and carry her over to the incinerator.

They can’t be . . .

“How much longer do we have to do this shit? This one stinks.”

“You’ve left her down here too long,” the older man says, still smoking his cigar and watching from a distance. “You’ve got to know when to throw your toys away.”

The other guy chuckles as they toss the woman into the flames. Just like she’s trash.

“Until boss says to stop.”

“Well, when the fuck is that going to be?”

“You know how the government works. Everything happens on their time.”

I freeze. The government?

“Just be happy they aren’t throwing us in the furnace after that shit Beck pulled.”

“Governor’s daughter. Man, I would have loved to take a slice of that pie.”

“Nah. That bitch was crazy. He did us a favor letting her go. Her sister, though . . .”

Mason’s hand tightens around mine to near-bruising strength, but he doesn’t move. I can feel the tension radiating through him when they toss another body in the incinerator, not a care in the world that these were real people. People with families and moms and dads. Probably even kids.

“Good luck getting that one,” the older man says. “Mommy’s little princess.”

“We need to get out of here,” I breathe, saliva pooling in my mouth. That would be something, wouldn’t it? My vomiting giving us away?

“We will,” Mason murmurs in my ear. “I’ve got you.”

“She’s spoken for.”

They all fall silent as a new voice comes into the room from somewhere we can’t see. They’ve just thrown the fourth woman in the fire. It sounds familiar, but I can’t make it out.

“Oh, is she now?” the older man chuckles. “Mommy dearest promise you a little piece of that cherry pie if you keep an eye on us?”

“Something like that.”

Ew.

Double ew.

My skin feels itchy. Like there are ants crawling on me at the thought of whoever this mystery man is getting a piece of my anything .

“Got room for another?”

“Jesus Christ. You fucking killed her already?” the guy who hates Martinez asks.

“She bit Martinez in the dick. He put a bullet through her head,” the new guy answers. “Just get her out of here. Place stinks enough as it is.”

Mason’s hand comes over my mouth and he pulls my head back against his chest to keep me quiet. I know that voice.

I stare as hard as I can through the crack in the door, and finally, I catch a good look at the new guy’s face.

Michael.

Tremors begin to slide through my body, the harsh reality of what I’ve been blind to for years running rampant through my mind.

If Michael’s in on this . . . does that mean my mother is, too?

“A moment of silence for the best pussy we’ve had all week,” the old man says as they all place their hands on their hearts.

“And may we get another soon,” another laughs.

“Amen.”

They’re silent for a single second before the old man shrugs. “Toss her in. I’m tired.”

I lurch for the door, but Mason’s arms won’t let me move even a single inch. Tears burn in my eyes, but it’s nothing compared to the gut-wrenching sickness in my stomach for the women they’ve killed. Raped. Tortured.

Michael chuckles, helping another guy throw the young woman in the flames.

Michael. The boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Still think he’s a good guy, little doe?” Mason murmurs quietly in my ear.

The men in the room are talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. My head’s spinning from the revelation that my best friend, and possibly even my mother, is a part of this.

“That’s the last of them. Let them bake for a while and we’ll be good to go.”

“I say we call it a night.”

“Got a bottle of whiskey upstairs,” the old man says, stepping out of view. Their voices drift toward the door and then down the hall, but all the while I can’t stop staring at the incinerator in the center of the room.

The scent is awful. Different than the decay and while that still lingers, this is . . . stomach turning. Like sulfur and rotten meat and everything else you don’t want to smell when you think of another person.

Mason and I sit there for God knows how long. Long enough for my legs to hurt from being cramped and long enough for the incinerator to die down enough that the heat isn’t scorching.

Finally, he wakes me from my haze, slowly opening the door to our cabinet, so it doesn’t make a sound.

“Hannah.”

Carefully, I climb off his lap, watching the incinerator, as if it’s going to reach out and grab me. Mason said none of the women on the floor were Missy and the men had mentioned someone let her go, but . . . where did she go? She hadn’t come to me. Parker’s in jail. Mom would have sent her right back here.

Even as Mason wraps his fingers around mine and tugs me toward a small door that leads outside to the alley where everything started tonight, I can’t get the simple question out of my head.

Where in the world is Melissa Gaines?