Adam’s voice thundered through the room, low and deadly. “Hands where I can see them!”
The clipboard clattered to the floor. The man at the fridge dropped the container he was holding. It hit the tile with a crack. The lid slid open—
Inside, floating in sterile solution, was a human kidney.
My stomach lurched. I slapped a hand over my mouth, the taste of bile burning the back of my throat.
The men stammered, but Adam’s gun didn’t waver. “On the ground. Now.”
Blade kicked the clipboard aside, his knife angled low, silent as death.
I pressed back against the wall, my chest heaving, vision blurring. The boy’s words replayed in my head. Preserving organs. Samples.
God help us. It was true.
And this was just the beginning.
65
Adam
The kidney hit the floor with a wet crack, solution spreading across the tile. Raine staggered back against the wall, her face pale, but she didn’t break. She was strong. Stronger than I deserved.
I leveled my Glock at the men in lab coats. “Down. Now.”
They hit their knees, hands shaking, eyes darting to each other.
Blade kicked the clipboard closer to me. I scooped it up, scanning the notes scrawled across the paper. Dates. Codes. Medical shorthand. One line chilled me to the bone:
Shipment confirmed – 7 units viable. Preservation window: 72 hrs. Destination: classified.
Units. Human beings turned into cargo.
My grip tightened on the gun. “Who are you working for?”
The older one stammered, “We—we don’t know names. We just—just handle intake.”
“Don’t lie to me.” My voice was ice. “People don’t vanish off a ridge and end up in freezers without somebody calling the shots. So who?”
The younger man’s voice cracked. “We only get orders by encrypted email. Drop-off times. Inventory lists. That’s all.”
Blade crouched low beside him, knife glinting in the fluorescent light. “Then tell us where the shipments go.”
Silence.
The younger man’s gaze flicked to the clipboard, then to the far wall where a heavy steel door was set into the concrete. His mistake.
I stepped closer, gun raised. “Open it.”
His face went sheet-white. “No, you don’t—”
“Now.”
Blade yanked him up by the collar, shoved him toward the door. With trembling hands, the man fumbled out a keycard and swiped. The lock buzzed.
The steel door groaned open.
Cold air poured out, colder than the rest of the clinic.
