Page 43 of Buried in Blood
I’ll load the girls into the trucks, send them off with enough noise to draw every eye in the goddamn sky.
Let them follow ghosts across state lines while I take the real product underground.
They won’t see it coming.
And Reese?
He’ll drive the decoy convoy. He owes me that much.
I flick the cigarette into the grass, watching it smolder.
This ends soon.
And when it does, I’ll be sipping whiskey with my queen while the rest of them burn.
Because they forgot the one rule that matters around here.
I always play to win.
* * *
The world disappears when I’m planning. Everything’s silent and still, except for “In My Room” by Insane Clown Posse playing around me.
No sound. No scent. Just the drag of red ink across paper and the pulse of certainty in my chest.
I spread the new blueprint over the table, smoothing the creases with my palm. Every tunnel. Every hallway. Every fucking shadow this place offers—I’ve memorized it like scripture.
But scripture doesn’t save anyone. I do.
I grab the pen and draw three quick lines—
Route A: South tunnel to the abandoned well. Too exposed. Too predictable.
Route B: Old chapel exit. Good cover, but Reese mentioned new motion sensors last month. Still risky.
Route C: Detour through the maintenance shaft. Tight fit. Not ideal for more than two girls at a time.
I circle each and scribble notes beside them. Flaws. Advantages. Contingencies.
Then I move to the decoy plan—two trucks. Loud engines. Flashy movements. Sent north with empty crates and forged ledgers. One with Reese behind the wheel. One with a burner driver I can afford to lose.
I draw a dotted line behind those trucks—the watchers will follow.
They always do.
I circle Harmony’s room, then Brooke’s. I draw arrows from both toward the secure passage in the east wing. The one no one else knows exists. Not even Reese.
Backup plans?
If Dante intercepts the convoy, activate fail-safe Alpha.
If Harmony tries to run, she won’t get far.
