Page 71 of Afraid to Hope

“An organization we were involved in as kids. Experiential learning. She focused on goats, ponies, and those damned chickens. I was focused on the outdoor programs, shooting, and rockets.”

“This was in addition to school?”

“Yep. What’d you do in school besides drive the boys crazy?”

“Ouch!” she yelped in a hushed tone.

“You okay?”

“Uh-huh. Bumped my elbow,” she said, rubbing it vigorously to get the sting out. “I studied hard and played volleyball. The boys didn’t notice me.”

Bane faced Natasha and guided her to him, stroking her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “The boys in your school had to be blind fuckers. Even when you were young, you were a beauty. I saw the evidence in your grandfather’s office, sweetheart,” he said, his lips capturing hers hungrily, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, seeking, wanting.

Natasha moaned, her tongue sliding over his, wanting more. Her hands traveled over Bane’s ass and she pulled his pelvis to hers, loving the feeling of his rigid length pressing hard against her core. He drew away, panting. It was all she could do to keep herself in check.

“So damned tempting,” he panted, resting his forehead on hers, then pressing a kiss to her temple.

Her breathing matched his. “We’re too exposed, and this place stinks.”

“Yeah,” he said, separating from her and sweeping the large windowless room with his flashlight, then directing the beam slowly in a grid pattern. “Watch your head. The ceiling is low and uneven.” He took more photos with a flash. The parts of the walls were lined with stone that looked to be the same used on the exterior, likely for reinforcement. The room was full of wooden crates and pallets and metal shelves. Most of them were empty.

“It smells much better down here.” Natasha stilled his hand. “Fresh, as if it has its own air supply. There.” Her flashlight paused between two rows of shelves, its beam shining through a haphazard stack of crates. Bane’s additional light accentuated the subtle difference. “Another door?”

He took photos of the room.

They moved the crates away from the wall and Bane ran his fingers around the perimeter. Nothing. He passed the flashlight over the surface. There, below his knees, where it had been hidden by the crates, was an ancient warded lock in the center of the camouflaged door.

Bane studied it. The camera whirred as the shutter took a series of pictures. “Do you notice a key anywhere?”

“No. Can you just bust it open?”

“Nope. The lock is built into the door. I’m going to have to pick it. Stay alert,” Bane said, glancing around again before dropping to his knees and putting the flashlight in his mouth.

He clamped his teeth around it and directed the beam to the lock. He pulled the small black pouch from his hip pocket and extracted a rake tool and tension wrench, carefully inserting them and feeling around patiently, yet working efficiently.Click.The lock creaked with indignation as Bane worked the lock and the door lost its valiant effort to remain closed.

“Interesting.” The thick wood had been coated with the same treatment as the exposed walls. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Another set of steps appeared in Natasha’s beam, and beyond where her flashlight illuminated was utter darkness. She moved her flashlight, its ray bouncing off the low overhead. “The steps are really steep,” she said, moving forward cautiously.

Bane hugged her to him protectively, stopping her movement. “I’ll go first.” He weighed the challenge that lay before him. It was impossible for him to stand or to squat. “Damn. These were made for a munchkin. I’m going to crab crawl. Light my path as much as you can.” He scuttled down the steps slowly, the camera bouncing lightly against his chest, then sat. “I’m at the bottom,” he called up, turning on his flashlight, shining it overhead. “I can’t stand because the ceiling is so low, probably four feet or less. The room is larger than the shed we came through, but the ceiling is lower. It’s earthen. Looks solid.” He scuttled around the perimeter of the room, following the beam as he moved it around the space, trying to avoid hitting or grazing his head on the rough ceiling. Piles of Amazigh blankets were folded neatly in corners and along the edges of the room, and there was something else.

“Nat? You gotta see this,” he said, animated, flipping over to all fours. It was more comfortable than walking bent over and trying to look up. “Come on down like I did. Take your time and stay close to the steps.”

Natasha scooted next to Bane and parked herself, her backside tender from jarring herself on a few of the steps on her way down. She cautiously knelt next to him and brushed her hands together, knocking off most of the debris. Her head brushed the uneven ceiling, so she sat on her haunches. “Show me what has you so excited.”

“Tunnels.”

“A central access point,” Natasha said, scooching backward, straining to see a switch, her eyes following the exposed wires running from each of the tunnels and along the walls where they met the ceiling. The lines merged near the top of the steps and disappeared. She glanced over the side. The male and female connectors dangled unplugged. Natasha broke out in a sweat when she realized she had almost brushed it when clamoring down the dirt steps.

“Possibly hot, even though they’re corroded and dirty,” Bane said, suddenly next to her, his brow creased, expression serious. He zoomed in with the camera. “Don’t touch them.”

“The farm is abandoned. I doubt there’s electricity.”

Bane shook his head. “You never know. Let’s err on the side of caution.”

“At least it’s clean and it doesn’t smell.”

“There’s that. I could see enough with my flashlight to know the tunnels are reinforced.” He held her gaze. “I wonder where they go.”

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