Fallen Empire (Dirty Empire)

Four people in three days. Soon, he’ll have no one left to torture but me.

He’s all but promised to drag me out there again tomorrow.

Good thing there’s a long way to go between alive and dead.

I pull myself to my feet and slam my body against the door again, harder this time.

A ceiling tile shifts, revealing a space above.

My heart thrums with adrenaline. There’s an attic of sorts, a space I might be able to fit through, if I can get up there.

I have to get up there.

I dump the contents of my piss bucket into the corner of the room and flip it over, then climb on top. It’s not nearly high enough and even if I jumped and grabbed onto the edge of the wall, I wouldn’t have the strength to pull myself up after what I went through today.

My mattress.

It takes all my effort to drag it over to the opposite corner and prop it against the wall. I climb slowly. But the mattress wobbles and sinks, and slides down to hit the floor, taking me with it. I land hard on my backside.

My frustration swells. If Bane comes back and sees that loose tile, he’ll know I figured out a way out of here and he’ll take it away from me.

This is my only chance.

I get back to my feet and shove the mattress in place, using the edge of the plywood against the window to keep it from sliding and the bucket and suitcase underneath to keep it from sinking.

It’s on my fourth wobbly attempt that I manage to grab hold of the wall’s frame. Every muscle in my body screams in protest as I haul myself up into the crammed space. It’s a thousand degrees in here, pitch-black and musty from age. I’m not entirely sure I’ll even fit. Still, I can taste triumph. I hold my breath and slither along the hallway, past the insulation and dust, trying not to consider what else might be living in here.

Suddenly the ceiling gives way under my weight. I tumble through and land on my back. Something heavy comes crashing down nearby, followed by a noisy clatter, like a bag of marbles scattering. I struggle to catch my breath, the wind knocked out of me for three beats.

All around me, the last dribs of sunlight shine a light on the dust floating in the air.

I’m in the hallway.

I’m free from my cell.

Exhilaration propels me forward. I drag myself to my knees, surveying my surroundings.

There’s a gun. It must have been stashed in the ceiling.

I pick it up without thinking, trying to remember the meager lessons I’ve received from my father and from Gabriel. It’s loaded, that much I can tell. The safety isn’t on. I’m lucky it didn’t go off.

I set the gun down and pick up a wad of twenty-dollar bills. There must be a hundred of them here. There are plenty of other bundles too, of twenties but also fifties and hundreds. I guess it’s not surprising that a guy like Bane doesn’t keep his blood money in a bank.

I take in all the bits of insulation strewn over the floor with renewed focus.

And frown. That’s not insulation.

Those are bones. Small human bones. Fingers, knuckles, teeth. Some I can’t identify.

There must be hundreds of them.

Horror clutches me as I take them all in. I’ll bet these are all from his victims. Trophies he’s collected over the years, of all his kills.

How many people has Bane murdered for the Easton family?

“What the hell?” Bane’s voice startles me.

I let out a yelp as I look up to find him standing in the doorway, his jeans covered in dust from the desert. I didn’t hear the boots on the steps or the door creak.

His lips split in a wicked snarl, the scar across his face pulling at his cheek and distorting his face. “What did I tell you would happen if you tried this shit again?” He charges for me.

The gun.

It’s a fleeting thought, and then suddenly the cool metal is against my palm. I don’t hesitate. I point the gun and squeeze the trigger.

A blast cuts through the night.

13

Gabriel

“He and I have more in common than I first guessed,” Caleb muses, his arms folded as he watches the toddler tear past the wall of glass windows. The boy shrieks with excitement as he checks behind his shoulder to see Sasha running behind, a fresh diaper in hand. We sent Moe out with Michelle to stock up on a few essentials, given Farley’s guys didn’t give them time to pack.

“Why? Because you’ve both run around the pool buck-naked with a woman chasing after you?”

He shrugs. “Basically. Except I’ve never shat myself.”

“Yet.”

His gaze wanders to the set of couches where Puff’s mother is perched, calling her grandson to her with a broad smile and open arms, pajamas dangling from her fingers. It’s all an act for his benefit. She’s a sweet, tender woman in her seventies, five foot one and a hundred pounds. She’s about as far away from what I pictured Puff’s mother to look like as possible, and when Farley helped her out of the van and into our garage, and I saw the terror in her eyes and the way she clutched the cross around her neck, I wanted to vomit for my part in this.