Page 64 of Buried in Blood
22
Damien
One Week Later
The compound doesn’t sleep.
Not today.
Not when the sun hasn’t risen and every breath feels like it’s balancing on a wire stretched over fire.
This is it.
The final move.
The rebirth of everything I built.
I stand in the center of the command room, eyes darting between feeds—eight cameras, eight rooms, eight fates hanging by a thread.
Seven girls.
One boy.
All packaged and prepped for auction.
Harmony once called them “victims”.
I call them “currency”.
And today? Their worth becomes legacy.
“Status?” I bark.
Reese steps up first. He’s sharp, alert, leather gloves already on, earpiece flickering with static. “Tranquilizers administered. Tracking tags secured. All captives are in transport attire.”
“Sedation levels?”
“Per protocol. Light dose. Enough to keep them quiet, but awake.”
Good.
I glance toward Enrique, who leans against the wall, arms folded. He doesn’t speak much. Doesn’t need to.
But I nod.
And he nods back.
It’s all I require.
The warehouse smells like bleach, blood, and rubber. My boots echo against the concrete as I walk down the center aisle lined with crates, each marked with coded stickers only I understand. Some are real. Some are decoys. All are dangerous.
I pause by Brooke’s file, flipping it open one last time. Photo. Stats. Notes.
Loyal but volatile. Emotionally bonded to Midas. Under evaluation.
I scribble out the last line.
She’s passed.
