Standing outside the door leading to the back, we take deep breaths. This is where it gets tricky. It’s locked, giving us no quiet way to enter because there’s no keyhole on the lock— it deadbolts from the other side. Dresden stands behind me as I pull the shotgun from my back. He nods as I aim the barrel at the handle. I squeeze the trigger, the blast echoing around us.
The handle blows apart and I kick the door in. Yells erupt inside as Dresden throws something over my head. He wraps his arms around me and turns us away from the door.
A loud bang goes off, intense bright light bursting around us. He and I scramble up and through the door. Three men stand inside, leaning against the walls, holding their ears. Dresden hits the first in the head with a round from his .45. A second man staggers toward me. I aim and squeeze the trigger of my shotgun again.
We stalk through the hallway, approaching the third man. I bend down and pull the hunting knife from my ankle. As I stand, Dresden grabs his shoulder and yanks him forward. The knife enters the dip at the base of his throat, blood running down the front of him, a gurgle escaping his throat as the red liquid seeps from the corners of his mouth.
I rip the knife out and wipe the blade on my pants. “Seventeen left.”
To my right is another door. I kick it open. A young girl, no more than a year older than Sorina, lies naked on a filthy mattress, her hands tied to a pole above her head. Tears stream down her face as a dark-skinned man buries himself inside her. Grabbing his shoulder, I throw him backward, his head bouncing off the floor.
The girl sobs, twisting to hide her face.
“Relax, we’re here to set you free,” I whisper using my knife to cut the ropes. She scrambles to her feet, backing into the corner.
“You cunt,” the man snarls behind me.
I swivel around as he lunges forward. Jabbing the knife upward, it slides under his ribcage, all the way to the handle. He grabs my neck and squeezes for a moment.
“Lean back, baby,” Dresden says.
A smile creeps onto my face as I obey. The man’s eyes widen— his head turns toward Dres’ voice just as a machete connects with his neck. His hand drops to his side, Dresden’s blade stuck two-thirds of the way into his flesh, his spinal cord severed. Blood spatters out onto my chest and chin. I kick the body in the stomach, knocking it to the floor and dislodging the machete in the process.
“Put something on and run down to the end of the hall. We’re getting the others. Help will be here for you all shortly.”
She nods, moving toward us. As she passes, she kisses my cheek and then Dresden’s. “Thank you,” she says with a heavy French accent. A lot of the survivors over the last year have the same reaction when we fr
ee them. In many ways, we’ve gotten used to it.
Following her out, we move down the hallway. Around the corner is a wall of one-way glass. In the center is our target, Mophat Garzzim. With him is a girl, maybe nineteen with long blonde hair, hanging by her wrists from a metal hook. Mophat holds a beaded flogger, lashing it against her skin in quick succession. She squeezes her eyes shut, grimacing, but doesn’t scream.
She’s a survivor.
“Lily, come on,” Dresden hisses.
“Go clear the next room. Give me a set of cable ties.”
He fishes them out of the bag and slaps them down in my hand. As he ducks into the next room, a scream erupts followed by several shouts and a sickening crunch. Following the hallway past the closed door on the left, two men stand outside the door to the showroom. I pull out my .50 just as they reach inside their jackets.
Squeezing the trigger rapidly, my arm aches with the effort to hold it level. The bullets sink into both men, dropping them to their knees before they slump to the floor on their faces. Stepping over them, I kick the door in, replacing my gun in its holster and unraveling one of my whips.
“What da fuck!” Mophat turns as I flick my wrist, the smooth leather coiling around his neck.
He gasps as I pull down, forcing him to trip and fall forward as I bring my knee into his face. Unraveling the whip, he fights to pull air back into his lungs as blood pours from his nose. Stepping over him, I plant my boot in the side of his face. I gently untie the girl and she drops into my arms, letting out a relieved sob.
“I got you,” I whisper, steadying her.
“Thank you,” she says lifting her head to gaze at me.
I let go of her, pulling out one of the cable ties. More tightly than necessary, I bind Mophat’s hands together and pull him to his feet. He screams and thrashes about as I hang him from the hook in the center of the room.
“Relax, Mophat. Hang out for a while. We’ll talk shortly.”
A sinister smile pulls at my lips as I move to the girl. She glares at her torturer, hatred and pain shining in her eyes.
“What are you going to do with him?”
“First, I want you to go get the other survivors from the front door and bring them in here. Then, I’m going to go help my partner finish killing this asshole’s friends. After that, we’ll question him and kill him.”