Page 1 of Girl, Bound

PROLOGUE

Eric Saunders flippedthe final switch and his office surrendered to the Dark. The desk lamp's glowfaded, leaving him to the shadows. He rose from his leather chair, the familiarcreak bidding him farewell for what felt like his millionth late night.Briefcase in hand, he navigated the gloom and headed for the door. Eric glancedat his watch. 10:47 PM. Another late night, another evening heading straight tobed then doing it all again tomorrow.

He navigated thecorridors then paused by one of the lab windows, peering inside at the gleamingequipment and neatly arranged beakers. In more wakeful hours, scientists toiledaway in those rooms, crafting the next wonder drug, the next billion-dollar blockbuster.This was Seraphine's birthplace.

Eric had seen the testresults, the hidden data buried deep in the company's servers. Seraphine workedwonders for adults, no doubt about that. But for children and teenagers, it wasa different story, and adolescents were the money printer. Eric could almosthear the whispers of the company's ghosts – trials gone wrong, side effectsswept under the rug. Blocked puberty, skyrocketing estrogen levels, nervoussystem damage. The list went on and on.

He’d brought hisconcerns to the board, pleaded with them to reconsider, to run more tests. Butthey had brushed him off, eyes gleaming with the promise of untold profits. Thebenefits outweigh the risks, they’d said. We can't let a few sideeffects derail the project. Intentions meant nothing when weighed againstconsequences, and Seraphine was the embodiment of that cruel reality. It wastheir Faustian bargain, a deal struck with the devil They had promised theworld a miracle cure, and they almost had, but the monkey paw had curled.

Eric tried to keephimself focused, tried not to let the frustration plague him night and day.They were psychos, snakes in suits, the embodiment of corporate greed. He wasthe only one who seemed to give a damn about the shitstorm that loomed on thehorizon. The only one with a shred of moral decency in this godforsakencompany. Science, not superstition, was his domain. Yet here he walked agauntlet of betrayal. A founder snared in his own labyrinth. He had alwaysscoffed at conspiracy theories, rolling his eyes at the paranoid ramblings ofbasement-dwelling bloggers. Most sane men flew halfway around the bendbefore they started spitting venom about cloaked cabals and backroom powerbrokers. But now, he wondered if those lunatics had been ontosomething all along.

He shook his head,trying to dislodge the thoughts that swarmed like hornets. Eric pushed throughthe double doors, stepping out into the cool night air. The parking lotstretched before him, a vast expanse of asphalt dotted with lonely lampposts.He fumbled for his keys with a shaky hand - something that seemed to be aconstant these days. The anxiety took up residence in his core like an unwantedhouseguest, and for a man who worked in the pharmaceutical trade, the ironywasn’t lost on him.

What if he just walkedaway? Tossed his badge on the desk and never looked back? He could leave themto their dirty work, wash his hands of the whole sordid affair. Temptation sangof an unbound future. A clean break. But walking away meant no absolution. Thebuilding, the company, he could leave. Himself? Never.

He was one of thefounders, his name forever linked to Seraphic Labs. If he bailed now, itwouldn't set him free. Sooner or later, the press would come knocking, the copswould start asking questions. They'd grill him about Seraphine, accuse him ofknowingly peddling a dangerous drug. His career would be in ruins, hisreputation shattered. He might even end up behind bars - not uncommon foroverly-ambitious entrepreneurs who’d favored dollars over lives.

Founder. The titleturned to ashes in his mouth. Once a badge of honor, now a millstone around hisneck. He and the other guys had wanted to play God, and for a while, they had.But now they’d flown too high and been burned by the sun. The only problem wasthat the others were happy to embrace the heat, but Eric could see beyond theeight-figure payout to the ramifications at the end of the tunnel.

But beneath the guiltand the shame, there was a small part of Eric that still clung to hope. Hopethat maybe, just maybe, he could make things right. There had to be a way out,a way to stop this madness before it was too late. He just needed time to think,to plan his next move.

Eric reached his car,his reflection staring back at him from the driver's side window. He lookedhaggard, his eyes ringed with dark circles, his skin pale and drawn. The priceof success, he thought bitterly.

But as Eric handledhis car door, he caught something in his peripheral vision.

Even under nightfall,he knew this parking lot by instinct. As always, he was the last man standing,the last gunslinger.

But about ten yardsfrom his car squatted a shape that broke the uniformity of theperfectly-symmetrical lot - an irregularity that didn't belong.

A long black bag laythere, incongruous against the grey tarmac, a dark blot that drew his eyes andquickened his pulse.

Hesitation grippedhim. Curiosity propelled him. The outline sharpened with each foot forward.

Unease coiled in hisgut. An instinctive response to the out-of-place object. The bag's purpose wasunclear, but its deliberate placement mocked him.

It wasn't trash, notsomething left by chance. It was deliberate, intentional. And it was right nextto his car, laid out like an omen he couldn't decipher. A wave of dread washedover him, the kind that prickled the skin and tightened the chest.

Eric crouched besidethe aberration and grazed the rough fabric with his fingers. The materialrippled beneath his touch. At the center, a thick zipper bisected the thickblack leather.

Realization crashedover him like a frigid wave. This was no tarpaulin. No misplaced car cover. Itspurpose was clear and undeniable.

This was a body bag.

A vessel for the dead.

Eric shot back aspanic surged through his veins. His mind reeled, grasping for rationality. Whowould leave such a thing here? And why so close to his car? Dread became aphysical presence that seized Eric by the throat, the asphalt tilting drunkenlybeneath his feet.

Some kind of joke? Aprank? Maybe one of the other execs poking fun at his moral compass?

Eric didn’t know, butwhatever it was, it wasn’t funny.

He grabbed his phone,found the security guard’s number. He had to report this, whatever it was.

But doubt gnawed athim. Would the guard even be there? Or had he, too, vanished into the night,leaving Eric alone with this twisted omen?

He was going to tryregardless.

Eric dialed thenumber, brought the phone to his ear.

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