I’m just about to say fuck it and find a corner when Fiona’s voice cuts through it all. “Jax, where’s Dean?”
Sisk pulls back. Fiona spins around, her eyes scanning the darkness past the trucks.
I rub a hand over my face. “He went to take a piss, ten minutes ago.”
Lou shrugs, lighting another smoke. “He’ll be back.”
Fiona’s already walking off toward the spot I pointed.
“Fiona, wait,” Sisk calls after her. “We’ll go with you.”
Before I can tell her that my dick already has plans for us—Sisk’s fingers lace through mine and she tugs me forward.
We push deeper into the industrial graveyard. It’s just a mess of rusted pipes and broken concrete slabs, with warning signs so faded they don’t warn anyone anymore. The ground slopes down toward a chain-link fence, bent and bowed where people havecut through before. Beyond it, the ground drops away to the old mine entrance. Or what’s left of it, most of it collapsed years ago.
Fiona calls out, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Dean!”
Nothing.
I scan the darkness.
“Dean!” Sisk tries next.
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t come this far just to take a leak.”
Fiona turns, her annoyance transforming into worry. “Then where is he?”
Sisk squeezes my hand. “Maybe he went back to the cars. Let’s just go check,” she says, already pulling us that way.
That’s when we hear it. From beyond the fence, a wet, gurgling sound. All three of us freeze. Then it comes again. A thick, sickening noise.We all turn toward the Pit.
Sisk shivers beside me as we start back toward the cars.
“What if something happened?” Fiona asks.
“Like what?” I say. “There’s nothing here. He’s probably back at the cars, drinking and wondering where the hell you went. Let’s go.”
“Look—there!” She points, her finger shaking. A dark shadow moves, then ducks behind a stack of oil drums beyond the fence. It’s too dark to make out who it is.
“Dean!” I yell.
The person freezes for a second, then bolts.
Fiona grabs my arm. “Go, Jax! Help him—please!”
“Shit.” I turn back to them. “Back to the cars. Now!” I bark, already moving.
Sisk grabs at my sleeve. “Jax, no—don’t go?—”
Too late, I’m already running. My stupid formal shoes are not built for this shit. I slip then catch myself without slowing down. I vault the bent section of fence instead of bothering to find thegap. The metal tears at my palm and rips a clean line through my sleeve. I hear fabric split, feel the sting, but I don’t stop.
“Dean!” I shout.
The figure ahead stumbles over a broken pipe, almost goes down, then regains balance and keeps running.
That’s when I know for sure:this isn’t Dean.And it’s not some drunk kid who wandered off. The figure is wearing a dark hoodie and some kind of mask, nothing like the formal crap Dean had on minutes ago.
I cut left, taking the shorter line down the slope. “Stop!” I order, but he doesn’t. Every instinct is screaming at me to get back to the car, but the way the runner is moving says this isn’t some random wanderer. This is someone who doesn’t want to be seen. Dean’s missing, andthis has to be connected.What if this asshole knows something? I can’t just turn back now. I started this, I’m finishing it.
