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How much had she endured since then? Was she still alive? Did she wish she wasn’t?
A growl escaped me, my vision going red around the edges.
So much so that I almost missed it.
A black fucking work van with a the goddamn sliding door still thrown open, parked in a way that it was half-hidden by a dumpster.
Of an apartment building.
An apartment building?
I didn’t really stop to rationalize that.
I just ran up the block, then across the street, trying to slow my breathing, so they didn’t hear me coming with all the heaving breaths as I stared at the building.
It had to be the basement.
Nothing else made sense.
Even if this crew was running the area now, what were the chances that every person in the building would stick their heads in the sand and act like they didn’t hear a woman screaming and being tortured?
True, I didn’t have a lot of faith in human beings, but someone would have been upset enough about that to call the cops.
Basements, while not exactly soundproof, provided some sound protection. And there was a whole floor above without apartments as well.
“Open the door for me,” I demanded to one of the teens hanging about, not looking like they were working, just slacking.
“The fuck are you? No,” he said, making a face toward his friends about me.
“Open the fucking door,” I snapped, feeling the darkness seep in, start to take over, as I did something the normal, sane side of me would never do. Raise a gun to a kid’s head.
“Whoa whoa,” he said, hands up, body tense, but his words were casual. “No need to go all fucking psycho, man,” he said, going to the door, and slipping in his key.
“You see a group of men coming down this street, you tell ‘em that Dav is in here,” I demanded.
“Yeah, whatever,” the kid said, trying to be cool for his friends, but his hands were shaking.
I could feel like shit about that later.
Not now.
When fuck-knew what was happening to Cinna right below my fucking feet.
I moved away from the elevator, not wanting anyone to be alerted to my presence until it was too late for them to do anything about it.
I made my way to the stairs, cringing as I carefully closed the door, then paused for only long enough to slip out of my shoes before continuing down.
A cold sweat had broken across my skin as my stomach felt like a fucking washing machine, spinning and sloshing with each step downward.
I didn’t remember the last time I stopped to give God a passing glance, but I found myself praying like I never had before as I kept descending.
For Cinna’s safety.
That she walked away from this, even if I didn’t.
I came to the lower door, ducking low to not be seen through the small glass cutouts, but trying to lean against it, to listen.
I wanted to charge in.
