Page 25 of The Preachers' Promise
I’d loved her back when we were children, and I love her still, just in a new and more intense way.
“It’s not far now,” Malachi says from over my shoulder. “We should be there within the hour.”
Roman lifts his head from where he’d been resting against the passenger window. “We can’t rush into anything until wehave all the information we need to do this right. If we cause a security breach and don’t manage to free her, they might go into lockdown. Or worse, call her father, and he could move her again. That means we may never find her. Their security will already be tight. Let’s not do anything too rash to provoke an increase.”
I know he’s right, but it’s not going to be easy, holding back.
Every cell in my body wants to storm the place, smashing heads against walls and roaring my fury, demanding to know where she is. How is she being treated in there? With kindness? It bothers me that this all happened so fast. What did her father tell the facility in order to get her admitted so quickly? That she was a danger to herself, perhaps.
I remember finding her, passed out on the bed, after she’d taken those pills, and experiencing a twinge of guilt. Did she need to see a doctor then, but we just convinced ourselves we could fix her because it was whatwewanted? Is what we’re doing now right? What if she really does need this help? Who do we think we are, believing we know better than a whole facility of doctors? If we take her back and she harms herself, how will we ever get over that?
But then I remember her mom pressing the note into my hand, telling me how lucky Ophelia is to have me as a friend. Her mom believes we can help her. This isn’t just us being bullheaded. No one knows a child the way their mother does, and if she trusts us, then perhaps I should, too.
The first morning rays of sunlight illuminate the sky as we turn off the state highway and onto a smaller road. The area gradually becomes a little more built up—industrial buildings, set away from the road, dot the landscape at intervals. It’s still quiet, though, not a residential neighborhood in any way, and many of the industrial buildings have that deserted air aboutthem. There are a few stores, but very few cars driving by, and no one around on foot.
“There,” Roman says.
It’s hard to miss the place he’s referring to.
The facility is surrounded by a tall, white-washed wall. It doesn’t have any direct neighbors—no surprise there—but there are a few other businesses around. I’m relieved about that. If it had been in the middle of nowhere, our presence would have been easier to spot.
We drive slowly past the tall iron gates, our heads turning in unison to get a look at the building beyond. It’s a single-story structure made of concrete blocks with bars in the windows. Embedded in the wall, next to the gate, is a bronze plaque with the name ‘Cedar Bridge Recovery Center’ engraved onto it.
The place is austere, and not one of those fancy rehab retreats where the rich and famous hide out for a break.
“Looks like a fucking prison,” Malachi growls.
Roman scoffs. “An expensive prison.”
They’re not wrong. And if it’s a prison, it’s going to be that much harder to get in and out.
I grind my teeth. “We should blow a goddamned hole in the side of it.”
“Patience,” Roman warns again. “We need more information before we try anything.”
“And what do we do in the meantime? Sit around and wait?” I understand what he is saying, but now we’re here, I’m itching to go get her.
“Sit around andobserve. See who is coming and going. Get more of a feel for the place.”
It’s so frustrating knowing Ophelia is beyond those walls, but we can’t reach her—not yet, anyway. She should be with us, not locked away in an asylum. Are they drugging her? Hurting her? What if they believe in electrotherapy, or some medieval shit likethat? The longer we wait, the more time we’re giving them to cause her harm.
I pull up next to the curb just down the road from the facility. I slot the car between another couple of vehicles, hoping it’ll make us less noticeable. We can see the gates from here, watch who is coming and going. Are the main gates the only entrance, or is there another way in around the back? If Saint doesn’t come through with the plans for the place, we’re going to need to explore to find out.
My cell buzzes with a call, and I check the screen. Speak of the devil, or rather, the viper. It’s Saint.
Instantly, adrenaline hits my veins and my muscles tense. He’s my least favorite of the Vipers, by a mile. Saint is a pretentious dick who thinks he’s better than everyone else. He dresses like he should be on a Paris runway. I don’t like people who care more about their appearance than anything else.
Still, I force myself to push down my loathing. He’s helping us now, so perhaps he’s changed. Maybe that’s what Ivani being in his life has done for him.
“Saint,” I tell the other two, and then I swipe the screen to answer. “What have you got for me?”
“What you asked for, of course,” he replies in his French accent. “You expect much less,non?”
I clench my jaw. “Thank you.”
“I’ll send you both the schematics for the building and the staff schedule. I fear you’re going to be outnumbered, however. They have multiple people on site at one time.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, hoping we do.
