Chapter 5 Eviction

— 5 —

EVICTION

Gemma

THE RED DOOR opens, and the world I knew is gone forever.

From that moment, it's a mad dash from one reality into the next, and everything happens too quickly for me to process.

All I can do is move.

I have to move to survive.

I have to survive to serve justice.

I have to serve justice to satisfy this insatiable need for revenge.

Maybe then I'll find some peace.

Four of the five red doors remain closed—it's only the one in front of us they've opened, and we're immediately ordered through.

We cross the threshold and enter the Red Zone.

There's no turning back, no time to think about the world we just left behind forever.

No re-entry…

Just keep moving.

The Red Zone is dark, a dimly lit cave.

A flat slab of concrete beneath our feet stretches as long as the five red doors, ending with stone walls on either side.

The only direction is forward, toward the edge of the concrete, which descends into a wide staircase, dropping into the darkness beneath a concrete header that has the words Red Zone painted across it in vibrant red paint.

Ten long strides to cross from the door to the staircase.

I urge Katie and Quinn to keep up with me as I step down, but I don't look back to see whether they do—I have to focus on myself, on my mission.

Less than ten steps to the bottom.

In this bizarre underworld, we find the tunnel.

It stretches out before us, wide enough for ten people to pass side-by-side, carved out through natural stone. There are lights on either side of the passage, but they're small and dim with darkness lying beyond them.

Keep moving.

"Whoa." Katie grabs my elbow, jerking me to a stop. My head whips sideways, my brow furrowed with frustration as I meet her eyes. "Maybe we should hang back a sec. I don't wanna be first going in there…"

I briefly glance away from her, look over my shoulder to watch the other outlaws from our line moving in through the only open red door, slowing their pace as soon as they enter. Their eyes sweep the dim space with both wonder and worry.

I can't let myself slow down.

I can't let myself think about what's happening.

I could drop too easily into the fear of what lies ahead… That fear creeps beneath the surface, begging for indulgence.

Threatening.

Cracking.

Crumbling.

It's a flood of panic behind a dam wall that's moments from falling apart. It's going to fall apart, but I might be able to outrun the surge for a little while if I just keep going.

"We have to move," I tell them. "We can't stop."

The red door slams shut behind us with a vibrating clang , startling everyone. There's a beat of silence before the second red door opens and the next line enters.

"Let's go ." I shake my arm from her grip, turn away, and move.

"HOW FUCKING LONG is this fucking tunnel?" Quinn huffs.

I feel nauseous from fighting adrenaline.

There are lights throughout the tunnel like the ones at the entrance, but they're placed few and far between, shifting us between periods of light and stretches of darkness.

"God, we've been walking for like fifteen minutes." Katie's voice is tinged with annoyance. "Is this some sick joke? Do we all just walk the tunnel forever until we die?"

As if in response to her question, we edge around a curve, and a brilliant light floods the passage.

It's the end… It's the beginning.

"Thank fuck." Quinn sighs. "Never thought I'd be so damn happy to walk my ass into the desert."

She and Katie laugh, but levity evades me.

The onrushing reality of entering this lawless world, coupled with that outlaw's threat to put me down for good like he did to his girl, weigh heavily on my shoulders. If he catches up to me and I die here today, all of this will have been in vain—Seb will never suffer the way he deserves to.

I quicken my pace toward the sunlight that reveals the end of the tunnel. My eyes burn as we approach. I squint and blink rapidly as we pass through a haze of blinding light.

We enter a new world.

We've arrived in the Territory.

I have to stop as my eyes adjust to the sunlight, but I start moving again as soon as I'm able to make out my surroundings.

Massive walls—taller than anything I could've imagined—stretch out forever into the Mojave. Walls that keep outlaws trapped within their bounds. In front of me is barren land—an expanse of dry, cracked earth in drab beige, coated with a thin layer of shifting sand—and in the distance are mountains.

Hot, bright, empty.

Desolate.

Home.

This is home now.

The fear I fought so hard finally breaks the dam and it surges through my veins. Adrenaline streams through me and my head feels light. I double over, dropping my hands to my knees, letting my head hang as I force myself to take a slow, deep breath.

"You okay?" I'm not sure exactly who asks, but a gentle hand lands on my back.

I take in another breath, blow it out slowly. "Just give me a second. We have to keep moving."

Another in, another out.

I force myself to stand, though I still feel dizzy.

There are so many voices behind us, the volume ever-growing.

It's dangerous for us to stop here.

I make myself move.

Ten steps, twenty, thirty… Katie and Quinn walk beside me, matching my stride. We move forward together until a force knocks me off my feet.

The weight of a rolling boulder slams into my back and I fall forward. I manage to fling my arms in front of me before I land, slam my palms to the hard ground, and slow my descent enough to avoid breaking my face as someone heavy falls onto my back.

I know immediately it's the man with the scar, the one who threatened me in the line. I hear Katie and Quinn descend into rage, shouting with madness, their voices rising in volume as they come to my aid.

But there are other voices, too.

The voices of men.

Furious, violent men.

The shouting turns to screaming.

Scar Face twists me beneath him, violently whipping me onto my back before straddling my waist, crushing me with his full weight bearing down. "No one to save you now, dumb bitch ."

Those two words strike me like lightning, sending a jolt of electricity through my veins. It vaporizes fear but leaves adrenaline for the fight.

I grit my teeth. "No one ever saved me."

His hands clamp around my throat.

There's chaos around me, and I can't focus…

I can't breathe.

My hands latch around his wrists, pulling uselessly against his strength as he squeezes and presses down.

Fuck .

If he presses down much harder, he'll snap my neck.

My legs thrash.

I scratch at his arms, dig in my nails.

He feels nothing.

I reach for his face, grappling at his chin, arching into his grip as I fight with the urge to hurt him, rip him, tear his skin with my nails, gouge out his fucking eyes.

I blink as Katie appears above me, slams her fist into the side of his face, knuckles punching right into his scar. It's enough to stun him. Though he doesn't release me, his grip loosens enough for me to draw in a decent breath. If she hits him again, I might be able to get away.

Her fist is clenched, ready to strike as she pulls back her arm, but then her head jerks back, and she disappears from my sight with a scream—dragged away by some man trying to hurt her, too.

Fury consumes me.

I claw at his arms, digging my nails so deep that I can feel his flesh tear. He cusses, and his arms twitch as I cause him pain.

Maybe he'll kill me, but I'll give him the scars to remember me.

Maybe he'll kill me…

The truth is a trigger for the song inside my mind. The one they tortured me with every time I thought I was going to die. The one I sang to them when I killed them. The one I want to sing to Logan Sebastian as I watch the light leave his eyes.

I have to watch him die.

All I can do is fight, so that's what I do.

I fight.

Even as I creep toward unconsciousness, still, I fight .

"That's right," I hear Quinn's triumphant voice. " Die , motherfucker."

I hear the sound of a man coughing, choking, dying.

What did she do?

"Hang on, girl." I think she's talking to me, but her voice isn't coming from the same place. I hear her on the opposite side of me now, where I saw Katie before.

Grunting. Smacking. Slapping. Breaking.

They're fighting someone together.

"Gimme your pill," Quinn says, both of them panting. "Let's make that motherfucker choke on it."

I'm fading.

I'm still fighting, but I'm fading.

My vision blackens around the edges. I blink and see flashes of red. There's blood on my fingers, blood that coats Scar Face's arms where I rip his skin.

Katie appears behind him, wraps her arms around his thick neck, and squeezes him with the force of her entire body. His right hand lifts from my neck, and though his left remains on my throat, I can sneak in shallow breaths.

I can fight him harder.

As I squirm and thrash, Quinn appears.

"I'll kill you bitches, too," he says, but while his mouth is open, Quinn slaps her palm against it and presses hard.

He lets go of me all together so he can reach for her, but he merely claws at her side, unable to get a grip at this angle. I wiggle my body out from beneath him as he tries to fight both women.

His eyes go wide.

He coughs behind her palm.

"That's right," Quinn soothes, grunting as she struggles to keep her palm clamped over his lips. "Just take it. Swallow it down. It'll all be over soon."

I don't even know why, but I feel the corners of my lips twist into a grin.

Within seconds, his body goes limp.

His eyelids droop.

He slumps in their grip.

They release him at the same time, and he falls sideways, crashing to the ground.

Panting, I blink up at them.

Quinn looks at me with concern wrinkling her bloody brow. There's a cut that stretches from the middle of her eyebrow halfway to her hairline. "Are you okay?"

"Shit." Katie takes a step toward me. "You're gonna have bruises."

I lift my hand and brush my fingers across my neck.

I blink away droplets from my watering eyes.

Inhale a deep breath through my nose.

Blow it out in a rush through rounded lips.

It takes me that long to find my voice. "I can deal with a few bruises. But how's my hair?"

Quinn chuckles. "Fucking fabulous."

"Flawless." Katie smiles as she reaches down.

I take her hand, let her help me to my feet. I brush my hips and butt, skimming away the dirt on my ugly jumpsuit as I glance around, noting three dead men on the ground.

The one to my right is bloodied and broken, his face smashed, caved in on one side. A heavy rock rests beside his skull—the obvious murder weapon. The man on my left is scratched up a bit, but just like Scar Face—who lies dead on the ground in front of me—I can't immediately tell what killed him.

"How did you do that?" I ask.

Quinn lifts her hand and shows me a familiar translucent packet, the plastic torn across the top perforation, hanging on by the corner.

She twists her wrist to show me both sides of the packet.

Empty .

"Kill pill," she says with a grin, then tosses the plastic onto the asshole's dead body. "They were right. It did come in handy."

I guess these women came in handy, too.