“You guys have weapons on you?” he interrupts him, not caring about introductions. He knows who we are.
We all nod.
“Hand them over,” he demands.
I pull the gun out of the back of my jeans and hand it to him. He removes the magazine and pulls back the slide, popping the bullet out that I had chambered. Then he tosses the useless gun to the ground. The sound of metal meeting concrete makes me cringe. The echo is ten times worse.
Finn pulls out his knife and hands it to him. He tosses that too. And so on with Alex and Jenks until we have nothing to protect ourselves with.
“Let’s go,” he orders and turns around, walking us down the aisle. I look around at the rows and rows of empty church pews. There are stairs on either side at the front of the room that lead up to a loft. In the middle sits what looks like a baptism pool, but there’s no water in it right now.
“I feel like it’s illegal for us to be here,” Finn whispers.
“Shouldn’t we sign an NDA?” Alex asks.
Tyson spins around, forcing us all to come to a stop. His dark brows turn down. “An NDA?” he repeats like it’s a word he’s never heard of before.
“Yeah.” Alex nods. “Or prick our fingers. Sign our lives away with our blood,” he jokes. “Otherwise, how else do you know we aren’t going to go and run our mouths about this place and what you’re going to pay us to do?”
The Lords take their oath of silence and duty very seriously from what I’ve been told. They will kill or die for it.
“I see.” Tyson nods once, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his black dress slacks, and steps into Alex. The others and I all take a step back, giving them space. “If you so much as say one word about me or anything I have you do to anyone other than who you see in this room right now, I’ll take a knife and cut both of your Achilles’ tendons out.” Alex swallows. “And then I’ll sit back and drink a glass of whiskey—neat—while I watch you crawl across the floor on your hands and knees with snot and spit covering your face, sobbing like a little bitch, begging me to end your pathetic fucking life.” Tyson gives Alex a chilling smile. “How’s that for an NDA?”
“I’m good with that.” Finn nods quickly, throwing his hands up. “I don’t need an NDA. My lips are sealed. I like walking.”
Silence then falls over us, and a coldness runs up my spine. Maybe Finn was right about this place being haunted.
Understanding that we know the bastard isn’t joking about his sadistic idea of torture, Tyson seems satisfied with our silence and turns, giving us his back, walking off to the right at the front of the pews through a door.
Jenks slaps Alex in the arm and whispers, “What the fuck, man?”
Alex just shrugs.
We walk down a hallway and take a left through a new door. It’s a narrow, spiral staircase down to a basement. When we get to the bottom, Tyson shoves open another door, and we step inside.
“Holy shit.” Jenks gasps.
Holy shit is right. It’s set up as an underground triage. It’s bright as fuck with large fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. There are a couple of hospital beds, monitors, and instruments scattered across metal tables. I also don’t miss the drains placed in the floor around the room. Makes me think they’re there for easy cleanup.
“What is all this?” Alex asks.
“Are you left or right-handed?” Tyson asks him, ignoring his previous question.
“Left,” he answers.
“Come here.” Tyson walks over to a chair in the middle of the room and pulls up an armrest, locking it in place. “You’ll go first. Lay your right arm out on the armrest. Palm up.”
Finn looks at me, his green eyes wide, and I shrug. I wasn’t given a fucking itinerary.
Alex plops down in the chair, laying his arm out while Tyson walks over to a table and grabs three black straps that resemble belts. Going back over to Alex, he orders, “Open your hand.” He places one of the belts right in the center of his palm. “Make a fist,” Tyson adds, and Alex does so, wrapping his hand around the leather. Tyson pulls it tight enough around the armrest to make Alex flinch and then buckles it in place underneath. Then he does it again with the second belt in the middle of his forearm, securing his arm to it. The third he throws in Alex’s lap. “That one goes in your mouth to bite on.”
“What—?”
We all turn around when the door behind us opens, cutting off Alex, and an older man walks in with a fucking doctor’s coat on. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He smiles. “Please, everyone have a seat. Get comfortable.” He gestures to the chairs and hospital beds that sit around the large space. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” He then walks over to a table that has what I can only guess is a tattoo gun on it.
“We’re getting tats?” Jenks questions.
“No. I’m not qualified to give those. An artist, I am not.” The old man laughs at his own joke.
