Out of all the people to walk down those steps, Rocky is not who I expect at all. With the weight of the cupboard pressing down on me and the dangerous light dangling above, there’s too much for me to keep track of. I’m a lamb waiting for slaughter at the hands of the Italian Don’s son.
To my surprise, when Rocky reaches me, he holsters his weapon and grapples with the cupboard to get it off me. Its bulkiness makes it awkward but together, we’re able to shift the cabinet off my body, and I’m able to breathe freely. Then Rocky stands over me and offers his hand down.
I gasp in a deep breath while pain flares across my abdomen, and a hundred thoughts flood through my mind about what it will mean to accept that hand after what happened in the bar.
Then I take it.
Rocky hauls me to my feet and clasps my shoulder, running a concerned eye down my body to where blood soaks into my shirt. “You’re hurt?”
“Stitches,” I say, immediately retracting my hand. “They burst.”
“Shit. Hospital?”
“No time.”
“Your girl.”
“Aye. What the hell are you even doing here?”
Rocky digs into one of his pockets and pulls out a fabric handkerchief. Offering it to me, he rolls one shoulder in a loose shrug. “I understand love makes you do crazy things,” he says. “And my father… he’s a bitter man. I don’t know why he refuses to see what Noah has done to cause this rift between our families. I think he’s so determined to keep up the act that we’re innocent, and Noah has been running rampant these past few weeks. Slippery little fuck.”
“So you believe me?” I use his handkerchief to dab under my shirt to where a few of my stitches have torn loose.
“Given what you’ve said and the lack of contact we’ve had with Noah’s family… yes. I don’t want the treaty to go up in flames because my father can’t see past his own pride. So I followed you, hoping to talk to you.” Rocky glances back at where Noah’s body lays crumpled just off the stage. “Lucky I did.”
“Thought I was next,” I mutter, nodding down to his holstered gun.
“Nah. Like I said, the treaty is worth its weight in gold for both of us. My father is just prideful and refuses to let anyone believe that a smaller family could have so much free rein while he’s in charge.”
Of course. It always comes down to pride with the Italians. My focus returns briefly to my torn stitches, but my concern doesn’t linger. “Listen, I’m grateful you saved my life and when there’s time, I’ll thank you properly, but right now…” My heart pulls painfully in my chest. “You killed my only lead to Evelyn. I…” My throat closes as I stumble down the steps to his body. “There’s got to be something.”
Pain jolts sharply through my knees as I hit the ground and begin rummaging through Noah’s pockets in search of anything that could lead me to Evelyn. I locate keys first, and Rocky snatches them out of my hand.
“I’ll find his car.” He takes off up the steps two at a time.
Noah’s pockets are empty except for a wallet giving me no new information, a receipt for a gas station on the other side of the city, and a few loose coins.
“Fuck!” I yell, grabbing his body by the shirt collar. “Where the fuck is she?”
“Cormac!” Rocky bellows in the distance.
I abandon the corpse and sprint up the steps like the hounds of hell are at my ankles. Outside, the parking lot is filled with cars from people parking here to work nearby. The cool night air clogs my lungs and I wince, briefly feeling every one of my injuries full force when I come to a stop and scan my surroundings for Rocky. Spotting him, I rush over to him. When I’m close enough, he tosses me a small black box.
“GPS. Fucker clearly didn’t think about it, or he didn’t care. Probably thought he was leaving her victorious.”
“Oh, shit,” I gasp, my hands trembling. “Thank fuck he was a cocky little shit.” I don’t need to press anything. Rocky already has the GPS showing his last known location. An old fabric factory on the outskirts of the city. “I have to go.”
“I’ll drive,” Rocky says, snatching the GPS back from me. “You need to fix those stitches and call for backup.”
He is helping. Rocky Barati is really standing in front of me, helping me. It could be because he was serious about preserving the treaty, or it’s guilt. I can’t be certain of his motives, but he makes a decent point so I toss him my car keys.
“Fine, but we’re taking my car.”
“Evie!” I bellow her name at the top of my lungs as I run through the fabric factory, stumbling over rusted scraps of metal, clumps of broken glass, and more. This place is huge and on the drive over, I called everyone I knew to get their ass here to find her. Cian’s own calls for Evelyn echo somewhere to my right, while Saoirse covers the upstairs offices. Rocky was with me until we located a fork in the corridor and he took the left one, yelling for Evelyn while also explaining that I was here since she wouldn’t recognize my voice.
It’s been too long.
That single thought taunts me with every step I take. According to his GPS, he left here an hour before we had our fight and in the time it took us to get here, God knows what could have happened in the meantime. Fear grips me with its long, cold fingers, taunting me with the loss of the woman I love, and each step feels weighed down by the intensity of my failure to protect her.
I need her.
I brought her into this.
I turned her life into this.
And if he’s harmed her, I will never be able to forgive myself.
“Evie!” I yell, skidding to a stop in a room filled with gigantic empty vats. “Evie, where are you?”
If she’s not here, I’ll pick apart that fucker’s GPS until I find her. I won’t stop.
Each room is emptier and more ramshackle than the last. Every so often, I hear the cries of the people here to help me, and each one sends my heart further into my gut that it’s not Evelyn’s gorgeous voice yelling back at me.
A set of rickety metal stairs takes me down deeper into the factory where a sudden icy chill wraps around me like freezing fog. It’s dark, so I pull my phone out to use as a flashlight, and the screen immediately fogs from my fingertips. Under the bright beam of light, I find hope in a few steps.
A chair set up at a table containing fast food wrappers that still shine with grease. Too recent to have been left here before the factory closed.
“Evie?”
I send a message to everyone demanding they get down here immediately, and my pace picks back up into a run as I follow subtle signs of life. Scuffs on the ground, a few empty plastic water bottles, and flickering lights come into view as I round a corner.
And then something odd.
I hear water. Running water inside the walls. “What the…?” This place is long abandoned, so why is there running water? It could be a burst pipe, considering I’m certain I’ve ventured into the basement, but something pulls me into following it just as footsteps thunder up behind me.
“Got something?” Rocky pants, his face flushed from the sprint. “It’s fucking bitter down here.”
“Aye, you hear that?”
Rocky tilts his head, then nods. “Water.”
“Aye.”
“This place shouldn’t have anything accessing it,” Rocky says. “You think it was Noah?”
“Who else?”
Together we jog down the corridor, hugging close to the wall to ensure we take the right turns with the direction of the water. It grows louder and louder until it’s almost deafening, then we stumble to a stop in front of a heavy metal door.
“The fuck is this?”
“Entrance to one of the upstairs vats,” Rocky explains. “This place is old. Vats like these were used to house gallons of water or dye for fabrics, but you needed drainage and maintenance. Water-tight door so nothing floods but access for when it’s empty and you have drainage issues.”
I’d comment on his fabric knowledge if I weren’t so overwhelmed by a sudden, sick realization. “Evie!” My fists pound on the door, and I grab the handle, fighting to turn the wheel with all my strength.
“Fuck. It’ll be sealed if it detects water!”
“Then find a way to fucking turn it off!” I yell at Rocky. “Evie! Evie, I’m here! Fuck!”
Rocky sprints away in search of exactly that while I pull at the locking mechanism with every ounce of strength I have, and then some. I pull until my muscles burn hot with pain, and still I keep going, straining with everything I have.
It doesn’t budge.
“Evie!” I scream her name and pound as hard as I can at the door.
She’s in there. I know she is.
I can’t lose her.
Not after all this.
Rage and fear consume me, restricting my breathing as I pound with all my might against the old metal door standing between me and the love of my life. Pain is a distant thought, drowned under the white-hot anger that fuels my fury and flailing fists. I punch and punch, throwing shoulder after shoulder at the door. I wrestle with the handle until my fingers are ready to pop right out of their sockets, and still, I fight.
Finally, the metal bends.
