Page 6 of Give Me Peace

Lochlan

“What the hell is this?” The man that greeted us shoves his way through the group, speaking with a heavy dose of hostility. “Parker, you good for nothing fucker. What part of keep the scene clear did you not understand?” He barks at the deputy they’d obviously left to keep an eye on us, but Denvers steps forward and interrupts the asshole before he can continue his tangent.

“Actually, you’re the one who needs to clear out.” He slaps a search warrant against the man’s chest, who studies the piece of paper for a moment, his jaw working back and forth in anger. I get why Denvers played his little game, allowing these guys to think they had any power while we sat back and observed. Those first few minutes were crucial.

It gave us the opportunity to get a read on the situation while they were still oblivious. We have no idea if Price was working alone or not. And as expected, the second the deputy fully grasps what’s happening, he shuts down. The switch is almost instant, him guarding his thoughts and emotions, and who knows if that’s because he’s genuinely shocked by the circumstances, or if he’s trying to cover his own ass. He nods, handing the warrant back to Denvers before gesturing to his men to move aside.

“I’m going down there.” I point to the shaft, making my intentions known. I can see that Denvers is about to protest, but I’m not backing down. “You can either join me or shoot me, but one way or another, that’s where I’m headed.” He huffs at my dramatics but fuck anyone who thinks they’re going to stop me. We both know that bum knee of his couldn’t handle it, so that rules him out.

“We have procedures that need to be followed, Calloway. Protocols. You’re here because of me, which means it’s my ass on the line if you go in there all gung-ho and compromise a possible crime scene.” He gives me that look, the one most people would cower from and find intimidating. But my Nan was far scarier, so it doesn’t faze me. When I just stare, unwilling to back down, he groans in exasperation.

“Start climbing down,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. Thank fuck, because the self-control I pride myself on was rapidly dwindling. I slip around Denvers, maneuvering my body into the tight space.

“Loch,” Ro calls out gruffly. I sigh at his hesitancy, knowing he’s worried about me going down there and what I might find, but it needs to be me that does it. There’s no way I’d send him after what he’s gone through. Besides, I need to see if for myself. Whatever it may be. I want to be sure nothing is overlooked and every detail is catalogued.

“I’ll be fine, brother.” I don’t wait for him to respond. My feet move down the rungs of the ladder quickly, and soon, I’m landing on solid ground. Glancing back up, I realize it bottoms out around fourteen feet.

“Toss me a flashlight,” I yell, and almost instantly Roan sends one flying. I catch it easily, spinning around to face the narrow hallway behind me. The walls are sheetrock, raw and dirty, and a few feet down it dead ends at a door. I twist the knob, but of course it doesn’t budge.

“Fuck.”

It’s heavy duty, definitely not original based on the rest of the space. It’s framed in a block of cement, the hinges bolted in securely. I’m pretty certain this was a storm cellar at one point, which means there’s likely no entrance from the inside of the home. Backtracking, I turn towards the shaft.

“There’s a door, but it’s locked. I need something to try and pick it, or hell, a cutting torch will do.” I tilt my head upwards to help my voice carry. I hear a few mumbled responses, Denvers calling out to the deputies to see if anyone has anything that could assist the situation, but I guess no one’s jumping at the chance to help.

Fuck this place and fuck these people.

“Move back, Loch.” Ro orders but doesn’t give me a chance to protest. His big ass drops straight down, barely touching the ladder at all. I step into the hallway just before he crushes me. “Pieces of shit. I’m gonna burn this hellhole to the fucking ground.” He storms towards the door, nearly flattening me along the wall in the process. And then he kicks the ever-loving shit out of it. Foot planted flat, he pounds against the steel barrier. I can feel the ground vibrate from the sheer force he’s using. After a couple failed tries, he switches to his shoulder, ramming it so hard I’m shocked he doesn’t break a bone.

“Give.” Slam. “You.” Slam. “Fucking.” Slam. “Asshole!” Roan bellows the last word, throwing his entire body into it. The concrete crumbles, the door flying open as one hinge gives way, causing it to sag from the other still holding it up. Light floods the hall, and for a second, I just stand there stunned before my feet finally get with the program.

Crazy motherfucker.

Ro’s already inside, having flown in with the door. He’s dusting himself off by the time I reach him, both of us scanning the small room for any sign of life. It’s filthy from years of neglect, but there’s a half-empty bottle of water lying on the floor. I pick it up, twisting it with my fingers to inspect, and frown at the expiration date.

Over a year ago.

A twin-size bed is pushed against the wall on my left, and to the right sits a sink and toilet. They’re completely open to the rest of the room, not an ounce of privacy. I frown, the scene before me painting a grim picture. All the things I dreaded are present, but there’s no sign of Saylor. I brush my fingers over the bedding, then turn towards the bookshelf to do the same. I’m reaching, desperate for some sort of sign that she was here. At least then we’d have a trail to follow. But there’s nothing that screams anyone, much less a teenage girl, has been here recently.

I’m just about to turn around and call for Denvers to send someone to comb through the place, when a tiny keyhole inside the bookshelf stops me. My eyes lower to the ground, noticing the faint arc where the concrete floor has been worn down a bit. I wrap my hand around the side of the built in and jerk, but nothing happens. Ro stops his own exploration once he sees what I do. He repeats the same motion I did, but it still doesn’t move.

“I’m getting real fucking sick of playing what’s behind the door,” he huffs.

I snort, deliriously tired and hanging on to hope by the skin of my teeth. At least this one’s made of wood and looks as old and worn down as the rest of the place. Instead of using brute force this go round, Ro snatches up one of the bigger pieces of broken concrete and bangs it against the keyhole. It takes a few tries, but the wood around it splits and the locking mechanism falls to the ground a second later.

Resting my hand on his shoulder, I direct him to step aside. A pit has formed in my stomach, and I feel certain that whatever waits for us on the other side won’t be pretty. I ease the door open, slowly revealing the space beyond it and flip the flashlight back on, instantly wishing I hadn’t. A pained sound must escape me, cause Roan surges forward just as I stumble back, both of us colliding with a grunt. The sight before me is so heart wrenching, I can’t process what I’m seeing.

She’s here.

Curled into a ball on that piece of shit mattress, the same one she’d been photographed on by the looks of it, Saylor’s petite form is engulfed by a dirty, blood-streaked baggy t-shirt. But the thing that has my breath suspended, my heart slowing to a nearly nonexistent thud, is the utter stillness. She hasn’t so much as flinched, and Lord knows we made a lot of racket with our entrance. I take a cautious step closer, praying to every entity out there that we didn’t get here just a little too late. Roan sucks in a strangled breath, finally catching his first glimpse of Saylor.

“Oh, fuck,” he croaks, clenching his eyes closed before spinning around. He drops to a squat, his hands going straight to his hair as he hangs his head. I knew he shouldn’t have come down here, but I can’t help him right now. Focusing back on Saylor, I kneel beside her, my fingers trembling as I reach out to place them over the pulse point on her wrist. She’s so fucking still, but after several painfully long seconds, I finally feel a faint sign of life. I’m so scared I’m imagining it I wind up staring at her chest until I can make out the slightest rise and fall. It’s too far apart though, her body weak and barely hanging on.

“She’s breathing,” I exhale, but there’s no real relief. We need to get her the hell out of here. Roan sucks in a deep breath, forcing himself back to his feet. He stands beside me, warring with his emotions.

“Saylor?” I say her name softly, not sure if I should just grab her and run or try and coax her back to awareness. “Sweetheart, we’re here to help you. Can you hear me?” Nothing. Not even a change in her breathing.

Goddamnit.