“Just the girl…and these—” Sarge held up Cassie’s leather bag and a familiar-looking phone case, the phone inside smashed to hell.“Found ’em in the truck.”
Taking a step back toward the door, Nash peered at the silver pickup sitting outside with the passenger-side door open, then back into the room, his gaze dropping to the blood, the body, the knife.
“She didn’t leave,” he muttered.
“I don’t know what’s what, brother,” Sarge said, gesturing toward McCoy.“Look at this shit—he’s been stabbed twice.”
Nash moved closer to the body, crouching down.The first wound sat high in McCoy’s throat, ragged and angled wrong, but the second sat lower and farther off to the side.Cleaner.More deliberate.
Cassie would fight like hell—but not this.
Straightening, his gaze snagged on the cellar hatch still hanging partly open.
Dropping down inside, he found Maya lying off to one side.He gave her a quick once-over before turning his attention to the ground—half-smoked cigarettes, matches, busted zip ties, drag marks pressed over each other in the dirt.
“Overdose, you think?”Sarge asked from behind him.“Couldn’t find any marks on her.”
Nash didn’t answer.He’d already moved onto the wall, studying the rough boards set into the packed earth, the narrow seams between them.
“How far back does McCoy land run up here?”
“Far as you want it,” Sarge said.“McCoy’s been here longer than anybody.”
Nash drove his boot into the wall, the impact landing dull against dirt behind boards.
Moving farther down, he kicked another section hard enough to rattle the planks.Solid.
Another kick farther over.Still solid.
Another.
This time, one of the boards flexed inward before settling back into place.
He stepped closer, catching his fingers against the edge and yanking hard.The board shifted loose, revealing a dark tunnel.
He turned to Sarge.
“She didn’t fuckin’ leave.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cassiecouldjustbarelystand upright inside the tunnel, while Ollie’s height forced him to hunch over her.His hand fisted in the back of her shirt, his boots clipping hers as he shoved her forward.
The only light came from his phone, held low at his side, casting a narrow beam ahead.With her hands cuffed, she was useless for anything but catching herself when she stumbled, which she did more than once.Each time, Ollie’s grip tightened before driving her forward again.
It could’ve been minutes.Could’ve been longer.All Cassie was aware of was Ollie behind her and the sick dread twisting tighter with every step.
At the end of the tunnel, he shifted, his hand leaving her just long enough to work another board loose from the wall, before shoving her through another crudely dug opening.
She stumbled into a wider, brighter space, light filtering down through several small windows above—a second cellar.The room stretched out farther than the one they’d come from, stacked tight with large barrels and boxes rising in uneven rows along the walls.
Ollie didn’t slow.He kept her moving toward a set of stairs, a heavy door at the top secured with a padlock.Working quickly, he unlocked it and shoved her up the last step.
This cabin was larger than the first.Much older, too.
And full of tables.
Long and functional, they filled most of the room, chairs shoved in and out around them.On one sat a crate of blenders, boxes of disposable gloves stacked beside them.On another, a thick metal device had been bolted down—a press of some kind.Industrial and completely wrong in a place like this.
