Page 127 of Corpse Roads
The arched door in the corner is locked. I press my ear against the rotting wood, straining to hear something. I’m met with silence. Based on the light streaming through the boarded-up window, it’s the next day at least.
How long was I unconscious for? The guys must be out there right now, burning the country to ashes in search of me. I was so stupid to run away like that.
Foolish Harlow.
They don’t care about you.
No one is coming to save you this time.
Desperation takes hold. I hammer my fist on the door, screaming for someone to let me out. When that fails, I growl and lift the sling over my shoulder, freeing my plastered arm.
“Hello? Please… let me out!”
Using my hand to beat on the door even louder, a shout of annoyance answers me. Footsteps draw closer on the other side, and I shuffle backwards as the lock clicks.
At the last second, I grab one of the used needles from the floor and hold it behind my back. The needle still looks sharp. Door creaking open, a short, heavily muscled man wearing a blue baseball cap steps inside.
“Who are you?” I scream at him.
Glazed-over eyes study me. Inching back further, I grip the needle tight. I can stab it into his eye if I have to. With a snarl, he flashes across the room, his arms banding around me.
“No! Let me go!”
I’m lifted into the air.
“Shut the fuck up, little bitch,” he orders.
“I said let go!”
Growling under his breath, he runs straight at the curved wall. I’m smashed into the stone so hard, I see stars. His arms are the only thing keeping me upright, and I’m forced to drop the needle.
“P-Please…”
“Jesus. Do you ever shut up?” he hisses, the scent of tobacco washing over me. “Let’s see if we can silence that tongue of yours, before I cut it out.”
Tossed over his shoulder, we wind down a spiral staircase that’s carved from more stone. At the bottom there’s a circular room, strewn with empty beer bottles and piles of rubbish.
“Where are we?” I gasp.
He jolts me on his shoulder. “Silence, whore. I don’t want to hear a damn word out of you.”
Ducking into a smaller room, full of broken furniture, I’m dumped into a sagging chair with a thud. His fist slams into my jaw before I can ask any more questions.
My head snaps to the side, ringing with pain. I lick my split lip, a hot dribble of blood running down my chin.
“No funny business,” he scolds.
Another figure steps into the empty doorway. “Now now, calm down, Jace. No need to scare our guest of honour.”
Boasting scarred knuckles and a fearsome expression, the man that snatched me from the graveyard offers me a sleazy smile. He’s older, wrapped in bronze skin that’s lined with wrinkles.
“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” He saunters into the room, a gun in hand. “That dose of ketamine was a bit excessive, I know.”
Dismissing his lackey, he pulls up another chair closer to me. I can smell the stench of alcohol and cigarettes on his dark clothing.
“The name’s Diablo. I’m a friend of Leighton’s.”
The way he’s looking at me is sickeningly familiar. Hungry and curious, his lips are lifted upwards with amusement.