Page 120 of Son of a Witch

Moments later, Loco let out a harsh whistle and motioned for us to go to him. My stomach contracted as Selena and I jogged through the back rooms of the old massage parlor to the laundry room out back.

“What is it?” My leader stuffed more evidence into her collection bag. Three guns and four grenades. I bet they had their ID numbers scratched off them and couldn’t be traced like the rest.

“Watch my back.” Loco crouched to hoist open a trap door with stairs leading into a subterranean space. He plucked a knockout bomb and dropped it into the hole. “Bombs away.”

The three of us activated our head lanterns as we descended into the hazy darkness. Immediately we got hit with an array of scents—stale air mixed with dried herbs, dirt, sweet, bitter, and death.

“What the hell is this place?” I gritted out, raising an arm to my nose to block the stench.

I scanned the shelves of jars, wooden boxes, resins of all different shapes, carvings, and gantii parts preserved in liquid filled vessels. The contraband broker in me made cash register chinging noises.

Selena picked up a box and flipped the case open. “Illegal gantii contraband.”

Tingles pricked my fingers to swipe a few items. Nah, not when my new leader looked on. Didn’t know if she’d report that to the old warden. Telling my mom where I was got me into deep shit with Vancor. Three extra years on my sentence and a loss of two hundred sentence-reducing points. Another infraction, and I was destined for maximum security. The warden’s excuse of reduced number of Tollens wouldn’t save me then.

Besides, half my procurement and sales team within the prison died in the fugitive escape, making brokering and selling a wee bit difficult at present. Similarly, I was here to find my girlfriend and friend, not cash myself up.

A groan called me out into a dim hall lit with a single bulb flickering on and off. Hazy light cast shadows over the form sliding on the floor.

“Tor, it’s me,” croaked a weak voice. Pascal. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Buddy?” I crouched beside him, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “Fuck, you’re freezing and clammy.” Injured came to mind, and I examined his torso, finding two burn holes in his uniform. “Fuck, what happened?”

“They took her.” Pascal nursed a bloody wound on the back of his head.

My insides twisted at the glass shredding them. No wonder they didn’t report back. Pascal lay dying in an underground fucking bunker and my girlfriend was God knows where.

“Who took her?” My pulse hammered so hard it felt like my veins were about to burst out of my skin. I fumbled in my first aid kit and removed a painkiller injection, stabbing him in the leg with it, and injecting the narcotic to take the edge off.

Pascal lifted a weak hand to my shoulder, and I knew it was bad. “Styx took her.”

The name made my pulse drop to a dangerous level and the blood in my veins freeze. “Why was he here?”

Pascal shook his head with fading strength. “Don’t… know.”

“Fuck, buddy, we’ve got to get you back to the infirmary.” I slung an arm beneath his armpit and blundered us to our feet in three attempts.

He groaned and stumbled onto me, and we crashed into the wall. Shit. I was barely able to hold his weight with my reduced strength. What a pair we were.

“Loco, get in here!” I called out. “Need your help. Pascal’s injured.”

Loco came fast, stuffing his knife into his sheath. Taking the pressure off me, he hooked his arm under Pascal’s, supporting his other side, and we navigated our injured brother back to Selena.

“Astra’s missing,” I reported to them both. “Taken by Styx.”

Loco’s hand went back to the hilt of his knife. “We’ve got to find her.”

“Impossible.” Pascal’s rasp struggled by the second. By the look of it, the fuckers got him in the edge of his lung, and he couldn’t breathe. “Styx vanished in a mothman spit portal.”

We all exchanged a glance, knowing what that meant. An untraceable portal. The vampire and his coven could be anywhere.

Fear for my woman’s life and safety thudded with every heartbeat as we carried Pascal above ground, Selena hurrying behind us. Our leader dropped open a portal, and we breached through it to the other side.

Thirty minutes later, Pascal was being stitched up and administered potions to heal his wounds.

I stood at the edge of his bed, a white-knuckle grip on the rail by his feet, Knoxe beside me, an arm draped over my shoulder.

Fuck. My girl was missing, and my brother lay clinging to life in a bed, all thanks to Styx. The fucker that broke my body. Violent flames licked down my spine. I’d let that bastard break me a thousand times if it meant we got her back with us.

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