“Nothing will happen,” Casey says confidently. “We’ve got this. And we’renotwalking in blind. We’ve had local law enforcement check out the house. From what Lex has told us, we know it’s safe. And we also know that this casino is somehow related to whatever shit is going down with the Costellos.Someone is after Anthony, and we don’t know why. So we go in there, and we go in knowing that whoever runs it knows something and is possibly behind the attacks. We just need to figure out why that is.”
“Without getting hurt,” I add.
“Without getting hurt. And if anyone touches any of us, Bane, you get first dibs.”
Casey winks at me in the rearview mirror, and my lips twitch.
“I did bring my sharpest knife.”
“Then you’ll be able to use it.”
And with that, the car falls silent as we continue our trip up to what is hopefully Henry’s hideout.
21
BANE
The street we park on is gray. That’s the only way I can describe it. It’s dark and gloomy. Even the sunset is pale and dank. Like a rusty pipe.
Like the ones I used to find as I dug.
Look at you, a useless little cretin. Working so hard and yet going nowhere.
My eyes blink as I clutch my stomach. The knife I have in my pocket does nothing to assuage the sickness I feel. Everything about this feels familiar, and yet it’s not.
It’s a total mindfuck.
“Come,” Georgiy says softly, reaching out and threading his hand with mine.
It gives me the strength to get out of the car and make my way toward the run-down house.
This place has been abandoned for years. It’s set to be demolished, but no one has yet. When Lex searched for who owned it, he only found a shell company owned by a shell company, and so on and so forth.
Ellery is sure, though, so here we are.
And the closer I get, the more nauseated I feel.
My eyes take in the overgrown grass, the broken windows, the front door hanging on by a thread.
I force my legs to keep moving, to carry me closer and closer.
We slip through the chain-link fence and walk up the crooked porch.
The minute I step through the front door, I can’t breathe.
Everything is vandalized—paint on the walls, beer cans scattered on the floor—but I know where to go.
I’m on autopilot.
Something’s almost pulling me forward.
I move away from Georgiy, my fingers slipping from his, and wander toward the kitchen, my hand landing on a door and twisting.
I’m panting now, struggling to breathe, but it’s like I know exactly what to do.
Like I remember.
The door squeaks open, and I step into a pantry.
