Page 90 of Freedom’s Inferno

My stomach cramped.

Neither of them spoke as they stepped outside, the hollow rhythm of their footsteps fading into the corridor. The metal door screeched as Costa’s man dragged it closed, the hinges protesting with every inch, a jagged, metallic wail that set my teeth on edge. It slammed shut, an echo booming through the small space like a gunshot, rattling the air around me.

Through the thin crack at the bottom of the door, I caught one last thread of Costa’s voice, cool and unbothered. “Cut the lights.”

Darkness swallowed me whole. The cold pressed in again, seeping through my wet clothes, biting at my skin. My breath came out in shaky bursts, loud in the silence, the scent of rust and damp concrete filling my lungs. I sat alone in the dark, drenched and freezing, their retreat still echoing in my head. My fingers found the rosary still tucked in my jacket pocket, and I curled my hand around it, gripping until the metal bit into my palm, and I whispered a prayer.

Please, please don’t come for me.

Chapter 36

Charlie

The city fell away in the rearview mirror, a blur of orange and white bleeding into the dark. The engine hummed steady and low, almost hypnotic. My hands gripped the wheel too tightly, the leather warm under my palms, and still I couldn’t stop the tremor running through them.

My pulse hadn’t slowed since the call. Every second that passed felt like time I didn’t have. The manicured streets and storefronts gave way to cracked pavement and empty stretches of road. Streetlights thinned, their glow fading into long shadows. The farther I drove, the more the landscape changed. Old trees leaning over the highway, their branches bending toward each other like sentinels standing guard. The Lexus cut through the dark, headlights washing the empty road in brief, sterile light before it vanished again.

My mind wouldn’t stop replaying her voice. That faint, broken sound through the receiver, half a word, cut off, swallowed. It hit me in fragments: her laugh echoing in the hotel room, the sharpness in her voice when she was angry, the way she said my name like she was trying to get under my skin. All of it looped in my head until it became a kind of torture.

Guilt burned in my chest, hot and acidic. I’d let this happen. I’d left her alone. And for what? So I could go have a pity party in the cafe bathroom? I was such a fucking idiot. Fury tangled with the guilt until I couldn’t tell one from the other. I was pissed. At Costa. At Richard. Most of all, I was angry with myself.

I tried to plan, to focus, but I didn’t have much to work with. A pocket knife and adrenaline weren’t exactly a strategy. Walking in blind was suicide, but running wasn’t an option.

The phone rang through the car’s Bluetooth, breaking the silence. I almost ignored it until the name flashed across the dashboard: City of New Haven. My gut clenched.

The Fire Department.

I pressed the button on the steering wheel. “Sterling.”

“Mr. Sterling, this is Investigator Newton from the New Haven Fire Department. We’ve completed the report on the Blackwell Sterling office fire.” His tone was clipped, professional. “Officially, we’re ruling it accidental. Faulty wiring in the main electrical panel. The insurance company’s been notified, and the payout will be processed within the week.”

I stared at the road ahead, jaw tight, “Right.” My voice sounded hollow. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“If you have any questions about the report‒”

“I don’t.” I ended the call before he could finish.

An electrical fire. That was what they’d written down, a tidy explanation for arson. Either Costa’s men were that good, or he had someone on his payroll at the station.

The world outside the car darkened as I left the last stretch of town behind. The road narrowed, cracked, and buckled in places where no one bothered to repair it. Trees crowded closer, branches knotted overhead, their shapes swallowing what was left of the light. The air hung heavier here, damp and still. This was the kind of place no one came looking.

My headlights caught a faded sign by the side of the road, half-hidden behind overgrowth: Hudson Valley Storage. I turned down the narrow access road. The gravel crunched under the tires as the Lexus rolled forward, the building coming into view, a massive warehouse-style structure, long and low, with rows of rusted metal doors under flickering floodlights.

I sat there for a moment, engine off, headlights dimming, staring at the hulking shape of the warehouse ahead. My mind ran through a dozen bad plans, each worse than the last.

Did I just walk in? Kick the door down and hope for a miracle?

I didn’t know which unit she was in, or how many men Costa had inside. Going in blind was suicide, but sitting here doing nothing was worse. My hands were slick with sweat, my heartbeat so loud it echoed in the silence. I took one breath, then another, trying to steady it.

Think, Charlie. Don’t go in there like a goddamn fool.

Before I could make a decision, the crunch of tires broke through the stillness. Headlights flared in my side mirror, bright, sudden, and blinding. A truck rolled up beside the Lexus, close enough that it vibrated through the frame of my car.

My stomach dropped.

The door creaked open, and a heavyset figure stepped out, the air outside swallowing the sound of the engine. The bigger one, the one I’d seen before beside the bearded man. Thick shoulders, barrel chest, eyes like cold steel under the shadow of his brow. He didn’t say a word. He stood there, a few feet from my driver’s side door, arms crossed, watching me. The yellow light from the overhead lamps caught on the edge of his belt buckle, on the glint of something metallic near his hip. He was waiting, and the message was clear: get out.

I eased out, the night air cutting through me as the door shut behind me. Gravel crunched beneath my boots.