“Got it,” Sawyer replies.
“Harper and Chavelle, Dustin and I will take the lead.”
The girls fall in behind us.
“Chavelle, how did you find out about this—”
I stop short, noticing three tunnels: one straight ahead, and two branching left and right.
“The tunnels,” she answers for me.
“Right.”
“This is where we party sometimes,” she explains.
I file away a mental note to come back with the guys and explore the other passages.
As we move deeper, voices drift through the air.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” a woman pleads.
“Fucking bitch,” growls a deep, distorted voice.
I break into a jog toward the sounds, drawing my Glock from its waist holster. Dustin pulls out his weapon beside me.
We emerge into a wide open space. A man wearing a legacy wolf mask and a crimson robe bolt into the tunnel on our left.
“I got him,” Dustin says.
Thatcher takes off after Dustin.
“Dustin, Thatcher, no!” Harper shouts.
Is she alive? She lies on the dirt floor, her scantily clad body encircled by flickering candles. What the hell was he doing? Was he really sacrificing her? I step into the ring, kneeling beside her, and press two fingers to her neck. There’s a pulse.
“Is she okay?” Chavelle asks.
“I think so, maybe he drugged her,” I murmur.
“We may have stopped him from killing his next victim.”
Heavy footsteps sound in the distance.
“We tried to catch him,” Dustin says with Thatcher on his heels.
“He’s more familiar with the tunnels than we are,” I say. “I’m surprised they don’t connect to ours.”
“You have tunnels?” Harper asks.
“Yes, we’re a secret society. We need somewhere private to discuss business,” I tell her.
The woman’s eyes flutter open. “Where’s George?”
“The wolf who ran off?” I asks.
“Yeah, we were playing a game.” She rubs at her neck. “He got too rough.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
