Page 45 of Veiled Vengeance

Are they running some kind of fucked up boarding school here or something?

One is a little girl who looks like she should be starting kindergarten. She has a light smattering of freckles across hercheekbones, curly, ash-brown hair, and cerulean eyes. Her lower lip wobbles as she looks at me.

A boy not much older than the girl steps in front of her, shielding her from me. He has sleek obsidian hair, ebony eyes, and a small pink scar that runs from his temple to his jawline. It’s jagged, as if it didn’t heal properly, and his expression is hard, too hard for someone so young.

Dahlia clings to a little boy who looks to be no older than a toddler. I’m betting it’s August—they have the same hazel eyes and straight nose. But where Dahlia’s hair is chestnut, August’s is a dark coffee. His little arms are secured around her neck, and his face is buried in her shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Mama’s here. I’m here.” Dahlia smooths a hand up and down his back. Tears line her eyes, but she holds them back with a sniffle.

“Don’t leave, Mama.” His plea is muffled.

She pulls back and runs her fingers through his wavy hair. “I’m not leaving this time, Bug. You’re coming with me.”

His eyes light up. “I am?”

“Yes, you are.” Dahlia nods with a watery smile.

August’s brows furrow, and his lips thin. “But what about Noah and Margaret? Are they coming too?”

Dahlia turns to me for an answer.

“Of course they are,” I whisper.

Like I would say no and leave these kids here to rot in this hellhole? Never.

Margaret’s curls and cherub face pop up from the side of Noah. “We are? It’s been so long since I could go outside.” She tugs on Noah’s arm. “Can we, Noah? Can we?”

Her excitement at the thought of leaving causes my heart to contract. A young girl like this shouldn’t be this happy over something so small as going outside. Walking out the door to play in the yard should be part of her daily routine.

Noah’s face turns into a sneer. It’s not a face that he should have perfected, yet it is. “We don’t know him, Maggie.”

Dahlia takes Noah’s hand in hers. “This is my friend, Rio. He and his friends are here to get you out.” She turns her head to me and explains, “Margaret’s mom and Noah’s mom are both dancers at Euphoria.”

A speck of innocence enters Noah’s face. “When can I see my mom?”

Once again, Dahlia turns to me.

Mierda.

“We’ll look into it,” I vow.

Noah deems my answer acceptable and grabs Margaret’s hand, readying themselves to leave.

“Gather your things. We’re going out the way we came in.”

Footsteps creak outside the bedroom door, and we all freeze. A shadow becomes visible under the door.

I lift my index finger to my mouth in a shushing motion. On light feet, I unsheathe two of my knives as I cross the room to the door. Taking up my position, I wait for the man’s next move. The click of a lighter and the distinct scent of cigarette smoke make their way through the door.

A smoke break. Really?

Turning the knob, I crack the door just enough so I can see into the hallway. The walls are pretty much the same as the ones in the kids’ bedroom—a different hideous wallpaper, but the same horror movie feel. I spot the staircase leading to the first floor off to the left.

The man’s back is to me as he zips up his fly and takes another drag of his cigarette. He has a distinct tattoo of a snake on the back of his neck.

Another man from the bedroom next door exits. He, too, zips up his fly. Behind him, a half-naked woman lies on the floor sobbing. He slams the door shut and approaches Snake Man.

“Give me one of those.”

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