Pulling myself up above the fence, I swung my leg over onto my jacket and straddled the barbed wire. As I shifted to swing my other leg over, tiny needles poked through my jacket into my flesh. Pain shot down my leg and I jumped, nearly flying off the fence. I managed to get both legs to the other side and still hold on. I clutched at my jacket and the barbs pierced my palms. Getting a firm grip on a piece of fence at the level of my torso, I tugged on my jacket trying to free it from the barb wire. It didn’t budge.
I yanked on it again, clinging to the fence with one hand, my knuckles and fingers aching. I heard ripping. Just a little more. I jerked it one last time and the jacket broke free, but it sent me plunging to the ground. At the last minute, I tucked and rolled on the cement, landing on my shoulder. My arm was screaming in pain. I closed my eyes, biting back tears and pressing it to my side. With my other hand, I gingerly probed the skin, tendons, and bones with my fingers. I gasped from the pain, but was relieved. It had taken the brunt of my fall, but it didn’t feel broken. The gun at the holster in my back had most likely left a gun-shaped bruise on my skin, but I’d survive that too. Good thing I had on a thick sweatshirt under my leather jacket. Tugging on my jacket, my first stab at getting my arm through the armhole was excruciating as my sore arm got tangled in the tattered and shredded remnants of the lining. The second time it slid through. Even so, the effort hurt like hell.
Then I remembered my phone. I reached into my pocket. It was shattered. I tried to hit the home button and nothing happened.
I darted toward the garage door. I had no idea how I was going to get in from there. As I sprinted, I realized my ankle was jacked up from the fall, as well, so I hobbled at a fast walk. The wind kicked up swirling dried leaves around my feet in mini whirlwinds, lifting them eerily so they became eye level. I swatted at the leaves as I ran and swore under my breath.
This place gave me the creeps. The wind whistled around a corner and I nearly screamed. I pressed myself against the cold building and looked for a way in. Then I spotted it. The plywood on the nearest window was screwed on. I took out my multi-purpose tool again and flicked open the screwdriver attachment and plucked the screws out one by one. Then I pried the board off and set it to one side. Beneath it was a half-broken window, jagged with glass. I reached down and lifted the glass out of the sill and set it aside. Kneeling, I peered into the building. The darkness stretched forever and made me want to turn and run.
I wiggled on my butt through the window, stretching with my legs to feel the floor. Nothing but air. Twisting, I propped my chest on the window and dropped, hoping there was floor below and that I wasn’t dropping into the center of the earth. But it was only a few feet down and my feet landed with a soft thud.
I froze listening. For a second I imagined a heavy breathing, like how a bear or hell hound would sound, but I knew it was all in my mind, that there was nothing there. In the distance, I heard the ding of pipes. Then a rhythmic dripping sound. And beyond that, a very low, nearly inaudible sound that sent shivers down my spine. It sounded like moaning. I knew it wasn’t and that my imagination was playing tricks on me, but my mouth instantly dried up and I found it difficult to swallow.
There was a small square of dim light that was coming in from the open window. I’d been so careful to cover my tracks, but leaving the plywood off the window would alert anyone who pulled up—anyone who was paying attention that is–that someone was inside.
I kicked my shoe around to see if there was anything I could stand on to try to at least pull the plywood over the window to look as if it were still intact, but my foot struck empty air. I scooted to the side so I was out of the dim square of light and in the shadows. I reached for my gun and unsnapped my holster with a loud click accompanied by a squeak from the holster’s leather. I pressed my back to the wall and listened, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
The first floor was dark and felt about thirty degrees colder than the chill outside. I didn’t hear anything unusual, but I couldn’t help the tangible feeling of malevolence in the air. My rational mind told me that the room was empty. Of people. But my gut told me something was in the room.
Dread crawled up my spine and over my scalp as if someone had run a long pointy finger across my body. Somewhere deep in the depths of the building there was that sound again—a low murmur, nearly a moaning, that I decided must be the wind seeping in through cracks in the old building.
My eyes focused and darker shadows became distinguishable from lighter shadows. When I had been spying from the doorway across the street, I thought I’d caught a glimpse of what looked like a staircase inside the garage. I headed that way, keeping my gun in front of me and my back to the wall. When the wall disappeared behind me and I touched the garage wall, I knew the stairs were in front of me. But that meant leaving the safety of the wall and walking into the open dark, dank space. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.
When I opened my eyes again, it seemed as if I could see a tiny bit better. Clutching my gun with both hands, I walked into the darkness, every nerve of my body on edge waiting for the gun to be yanked out of my hands or for it to smack into a solid body waiting for me in the dark. In the back of my mind, I vividly imagined every scary movie where the victim is stumbling along in the dark while some form of evil is watching her calmly and patiently with night vision goggles. I froze and listened. No heavy breathing. No shuffling of zombie-type feet toward me. So far so good.
And then that goddamn moaning started up again somewhere in the building. Okay. It was far away. I could handle anything as long as it wasn’t here with me right now. I decided to take ten steps and then pause to listen. I counted the steps and then stopped.
Nothing. Not a sound. The building was enormous, so I had no idea how close I was to the stairs. I took five more steps. Nothing. I listened but only heard a weird metal clanking noise that sounded like it was coming from outside and not anywhere in the building. A murmur of voices outside and the growl of a motor vehicle sent my heart beating up into my throat right when the garage door squeaked loudly and began to rise. The light filtering in illuminated a metal staircase in front of me and I ran for it as if my life depended on it. Which it probably did.
Scaling the metal stairs, which creaked loudly at each step, I was up three stories where the stairs dead-ended before the garage door fully opened. Two doors lay before me. I tried the handle of the first one. It was locked. The second one opened onto an enclosed stairway. With lights. Flickering horror movie lights. But lights.
Behind me, the garage door shut with a bang. I stepped inside the inner staircase. It seemed to go up several stories. I had no choice but to head to the next floor. Except there wasn’t one. It wasn’t until two flights later that there was a door. It looked like solid steel. I tried the handle. It pushed open.
Slowly, I eased my foot into the space and listened. I heard a humming noise. I waited and when nothing happened, I pushed the door open a little more and then, crouching, stuck one eye to the opening. It was dark, but not as pitch black as the first floor. This time light from outside filtered in to a big cavern of a space. I slipped my body through the crack in the door and then carefully closed it behind me so it wouldn’t make any noise.
Huge sheets of thick plastic were hung between giant pillars, sectioning the floor off into smaller spaces.
Grasping my gun, I headed toward the first area. If I didn’t find Sasha here, I’d try the next floor and the next until I’d searched the entire building. And if she wasn’t here? I glanced at my watch. It was now six in the morning. Twelve hours left.
Holding my breath, I stepped around the first sheet of thick plastic. Nothing. I moved onto the next. It wasn’t until the fourth section that I found something. At first I stared, not sure what I was looking at in the dim light. Two long rows of giant plastic barrels. The ones closest to me didn’t have lids on them and were empty. But there were about nine with lids tightly sealed. And then nearby, there were enormous con
tainers stacked on top of one another. They contained clear liquid and had spigots.
Squinting in the dusty light I tried to read the label but it was too dark.
A bone-rattling rumble made me freeze. When I heard the distinct ding of an elevator, I jerked my head and saw a small light across the room from me. A freight elevator. I ducked into the furthest corner of the room behind the barrels with the lids on them. I pulled my legs in and made myself as small as possible as the elevator doors open with a whoosh. A series of lights overhead flickered on. A man grunted. “This guy has got to be at least 250 pounds.” He sounded out of breath.
“That’s what pisses me off,” another voice said. “This guy begging for my hard-earned cash and he probably eats better than me. Probably getting all sorts of money from the government to sit around and drink all day.”
“Yep. Total bullshit.”
“I’m glad he decided to ... uh, take us up on our offer.”
The other man laughed. “Dumb ass. Didn’t his mama ever teach him there ain’t nothing for free?”
“Are you kidding me? They don’t teach them nothing but how to get one over on the system.”
“Not for long. Not with King in charge. All that shit is going to change. Can’t happen soon enough.”
My heart stopped. These were King’s henchmen. Killing the homeless. Here was proof. If only my phone wasn’t out of commission I could have evidence. Or call for the police to come interrupt them in the act. But that wouldn’t lead me to King. He was the big fish.
“This is good right here.”
I heard a squishy thud and crack. I closed my eyes. I didn’t have to have x-ray vision to know that they’d dropped this man’s body on the cement floor, cracking the guy’s head like an egg. If he wasn’t already dead, he’d surely be dead now.
“Grab that one.”
More grunting. “The dolly’s over there.”
I heard the squeak of wheels and more grunting.
Then the sound of liquid rushing into a container.
“Dude! Put on your mask.” The voice was muffled.
“I got gloves on. Besides, they didn’t wear masks in Breaking Bad.”
“Okay, fuckwad, don’t put on your mask. See if I give a shit.”
I heard swearing and muffled voices.
After a few more minutes the sound of liquid stopped and I heard a snap that was probably the lid being pressed onto the plastic container.
“Let’s get out of here,” one man said. “This place gives me the creeps.”
The other man laughed and shortly after I heard the sound of the elevator ding.
After the lights were flicked off and I heard the whoosh of doors opening and closing and the rumble of the elevator grew fainter, I dared to stand.
The liquid in the containers had to be hydrofluoric acid. I’d watched Breaking Bad. Binge watched it a few times, actually. Hydrofluoric acid liquefied bodies.
Walking past the barrels with plastic lids, which now numbered ten, I felt sick.
These men were treating people like slabs of meat.
And what was possibly even worse is that there were another few dozen barrels empty. Waiting.
I paused.
Bile filled my throat. What if Sasha was in one of these barrels. I looked around. I would need a tool to pry them open and even then, I would also need gloves and a mask or something to protect me if the liquid splashed out or I inhaled it.
I tried to remember how many people Darling and Kato had said were missing.
Not ten.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I DUCKED BACK INTO the stairway, feeling safe again for the first time in twenty minutes. It was apparent I was the only person using the stairs in this hell hole. Probably why the flickering lights had never been fixed. I hurried up two more flights to get to the next floor. This door was locked. I pushed and pulled and it didn’t budge. The door handle on the next floor turned easily. I cracked the door half an inch, waiting. And then an inch. And then two inches. This floor was lit up. Afraid somebody was inside, I got my gun out and holding it close poked my head around the door. Something smelled bad. Like sweat and human waste.
The first thing I saw was a large desk in a corner with a computer on it. Squeezing through the small space, I stepped inside, keeping my foot in the door in case I needed to quickly escape. That’s when I saw her.
Sasha was huddled on a mattress on the floor in the corner, sleeping. A metal cuff around her ankle led to a chain bolted into a wall. A large bandage on that foot was soiled and dirty. A jug of water was nearly empty. A few orange rinds were on a small plate and a giant tub had been used for waste. She moaned and turned. Her eyes were closed. Her long lashes resting on her cheekbones. I was hoping she was asleep and dreaming and not feverish from infection.
I quickly took in my surroundings. Besides the door to the stairs there was an elevator. Good. I wasn’t sure how well she could walk with her injured foot. The chain to the wall would be a problem. I took out my multi-tool but I didn’t think it would do the trick. I needed something bigger.
Deciding that it would be better if I woke her after I was ready to free her, I headed toward the desk and searched the drawers. The top drawer had the key to the shackle. I could hardly believe it. Maybe a lifetime of bad luck had turned. As I thought that, the elevator dinged. I didn’t even have time to crouch behind the desk in a lame attempt to hide.
Instead I stood wide-eyed as Kraig King stepped out of the elevator. He gave me a slow smile that sent a chill down my spine. He wore a white shirt and white jeans and was flanked by two men with shaved heads wearing black. I scowled at them all. Up close, King was eerily tall. His watery eyes blinked as if it were difficult for him to see in the bright lights. That’s when I noticed what had seemed so strange about him at Katrina’s. His eyes were pinkish blue. Without the fedora, I saw his hair was white blond and swept up in an old-fashioned pompadour. He was an albino. That’s why in public he always wore a fedora and dark sunglasses. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was both strikingly handsome and terrifying at the same time.
King, obviously used to people gawking, ignored my open mouth and pointed up to the ceiling where I saw the red flashing light of a camera. I nodded, conceding my mistake.
Meanwhile, I tucked the key to the manacle into the back pocket of my jeans at the same time I reached for my gun tucked into my back waistband.
“Tssskkk tsssk tsssk” King said shaking his head. The two men in black raised assault rifles and pointed them at my face. I came away with my hands empty and palms in the air.
“Good girl.”
“I don’t suppose I need to ask what you’re doing here?” he said.
I wanted to keep their attention off Sasha, who had sat up and was rubbing her eyes. He stared at me so I gave him a full-blown smile.
“Fuck you.”
Before I realized it, he’d taken three long strides and slapped my cheek so hard I was sent flying into the desk chair. Stunned.
His goons yanked my gun out of my waistband and wrapped a rope around my waist so I was bound to the chair. I had flexed my hands when they tied it, hoping to get a little wiggle room so I could start working on the knot. I watched them walk away through my lowered eyelashes. I wanted to see where they were putting my gun.
“In case you don’t already know who I am, you can call me, ‘Your worst fucking nightmare.’”
He bared his small teeth as he smiled and my mouth went dry. He was crazy. I knew that on a rational level simply by his politics, but now I knew it on a visceral level that made my skin crawl. The bodyguard with my gun held his assault rifle in one hand and my gun in the other. He was walking back to stand by King when his phone buzzed. He set my gun down on top of a filing cabinet and took out his phone. He glanced at it quickly and then stuck it back into his pocket. Then he put both hands back on his assault rifle and looked my way.
“My problem at this moment is that you broke into my pro
perty,” King said. “You’re a trespasser. As far as I’m concerned I have the legal right to shoot you dead for breaking and entering and drawing a gun on me.”
“For a guy who is stashing dead bodies, I’d have thought it would be a lot harder to break in here. You might want to bolster your security.” I slipped one finger through the knot and started working it. I feigned nonchalance hoping he wouldn’t notice how furiously I was trying to free myself.
“Obviously, I didn’t suspect some greasy Italian peasant girl could figure it out. You surprise me.”
“You have no idea.” I mumbled it, but on the inside I was stunned. Not so much at the ethnic slur, but at the fact that he seemed to know who I was.
He read my mind. And he knew it. He gave another malevolent smile.
“Yes. Gia Valentina Santella. I know very well who you are. I also know that you still think your homeless friend was killed by Mafioso. And that you are so wracked with guilt that you visit her grave twice a month. Let me relieve you of that guilt. One of my men killed her.”
Rage spread throughout my insides making me feel as if I would burst. My blood pounded in my ears. If I weren’t tied to this chair, I would’ve smashed his teeth out with my forehead.
The final battle’s time and place must remain a deep secret until the last possible moment if one is to be victorious.
At my name, I saw Sasha’s head jerk upright. She might not have recognized my face, but she knew my name. I saw her back up against the wall.
The three men saw where I was looking.
“Sasha, your grandmother’s friend here is going to help you tell us where your laptop is. Because if you don’t, she will die. Since you don’t seem to care about your own death, maybe you care about hers.”
“She doesn’t care. We barely know each other.”
The blurry whir of his hand came at the same time the back of his palm struck my mouth. This time I tasted blood and my teeth reverberated from the blow. But I noticed when I lifted my head again that my hands had a bit more mobility. The knot was loosening.
Gia Santella Crime Thriller Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers) Page 29
