Page 153 of The Wild Charge

The trip wasn’t a long one, maybe ten minutes, tops. Evan tried to keep track of their turns and landmarks through the window without looking too alert, but Jensen kept jostling against him as he swayed through the turns, and eventually the joint was pressed into his hand. By the time the Rover cruised to a halt, he was pleasantly loose-limbed and no longer nervous. It was easy to laugh along with the other two as they piled out onto the sidewalk; they weren’t so bad, these guys. And they’d invited him along! They liked him! Maybe the situation wasn’t as fucked up as Fox kept saying it was – Fox was a boring old asshole, anyway.

The building before them was tall, all gleaming blue-black glass with a black awning out front and a roll of black carpet leading up to a door framed by urns bursting with ferns and flowers. A uniformed doorman opened the door with a quick nod and a low, “Mr. Waverly,” and they stepped into a marble-floored lobby loud with the crash of a massive waterfall. Signage on one wall welcomed them to the Beaumont Building, and the main business appeared to be, judging by the size and location of its font, theNew York offices of Jack Waverly, Producer, Director, Screenwriter, etc.

A guard was stationed at a desk, but he glanced up, noted it was Jensen, offered a wave and went back to the book he was reading.

Jensen’s friends were pumped, whooping and singing and calling to one another, voices echoing loudly over the rush of water. Evan took a deep breath of chlorine-scented air, and found himself smiling, eager now to see what was so special about this place…aside from its immediate, obvious grandeur.

They made their loud, unsteady way to the elevators, and all managed to cram into one large cab. Jensen hit the B for basement, and several of them groaned when they began the downward glide.

“Shit,” Paul muttered. “Shouldn’t a had that last shot.”

Despite the tight press, Jensen managed to turn around and smack him upside the head. “What am I always telling you?” he slurred. “Why you gotta be whiskey-dicked all the time?”

“I know, I know,” Paul whined. “You got coffee down here?”

“What do you think?”

They arrived to another chorus of groans – Evan caught himself with a hand against the bright chrome wall, less than steady himself – and emptied out into a dark, cool basement space packed with boxes and crates and maintenance equipment.

“Come on, new guy,” Jensen said, and started off through the maze. “I’m ‘boutta blow your fucking mind.”

They walked and walked, and finally reached a corner of basement blocked off with chain link fence. There was a padlock on the gate, one that Jensen opened – after some fumbling – with a key. Beyond waited another elevator, the industrial kind, with a sliding door and a metal grate. It fit them all easily, the air inside the cab starkly cold. When they were loaded and heading down once more, Evan felt his buzz begin to fade. Nerves boiled back up in his belly and he wished he’d thought to fire off a text to someone to let them know he was leaving Crew earlier.

Seth shot him a grin and waggled his brows, which kicked off a sequence of ugly mental images. Maybe this whole thing was a giant prank on him, and he’d get his ass kicked and left to rot in some basement cell. Maybe they’d recognized him as a Lean Dog straight off, and this whole thing had been a ruse to wear his guard down and get him somewhere where no one could hear him scream.

He regretted every horror movie he’d ever watched.

But as they descended, the boys got more and more excited: rocking on their feet, cracking their knuckles, murmuring to each other in snatched whispers. Adrenaline shaved the edges off their inebriation, so they seemed almost clear-eyed by the time the car finally ground to a halt and its two doors slid back.

In his thirty seconds of mounting panic, Evan had created an elaborate imagining ofSaw-style concrete and rusty pipes. So he was stunned when they emerged onto soft burgundy carpet, in a receiving area decked out in rich wallpaper, velvet drapes, and with tufted couches and small end tables lining the walls.

Jensen strode forward, a new swagger in his steps, all his boys hot on his heels. Evan wiped the shock off his face and hurried to catch up.

The carpet and wallpaper continued down a wide hallway, framed artwork mounted above dark wainscoting. It felt like they’d stepped into a Victorian mansion. Paneled doors were set at intervals, each bearing keycard readers like at a hotel, with numbered keypads beneath. Jensen took them all the way to the one at the end, flashed a card, and let them in with a polite, electronic beep.

Here was another lounging area full of couches, tables, and an impressively-stocked wet bar along one wall. A hulking guard dressed in black awaited them, a gun and an assortment of other goodies belted around his waist, and Evan nearly backpedaled out of the room. It was too late, though; if he bolted, he was good as dead.

Several of the guys went right to the bar. Jensen dropped down onto a sofa and sprawled out just like he had back at the club.

“Mr. Jensen,” the guard greeted in a low rumble.

“S’up? We got anything new in?” He grinned. “Not feeling like leftovers today."

The entourage cackled like hyenas.

The guard shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Mr. Jensen, the news ones are slated for the auction.”

“All of them?” Jensen flicked his fingers in dismissal. “We can share, then.”

“Mr. Jensen, your father–”

“My father isn’t here right now, is he? Which makes me your boss.” He snapped his fingers, scowling. “Do what I said, or you’ll have your pay docked.”

The guard’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, and left through another keycard access door.

Jensen rolled his head along the back of the sofa so he was looking at Evan; his Cheshire cat smile was awful. He patted the space beside him. “C’mere, new guy. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous.”

Evan crossed to the sofa with the sense that he was moving toward something horrible; that he was about to do – or be forced to do – something that would haunt him for a very long time. He sat down, heart beating wildly, and Jensen clamped a punishing hand on his shoulder.

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