Page 20 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

“Open the fucking room.”

But Amos shook his head, lost in his fear. “You don’t understand. He’s not like the others. He’s evil. There’s nothing good left in him. Clara saw that. She wanted the girl, and she made it worse. He’ll kill me.” I wasn’t sure what in hell he was talking about, but then, Amos stopped, leaving an ominous silence.

I exchanged a glance with August. We both understood the stakes, the delicate balance of fear and necessity that we were using—good cop, bad cop. My approach softened, my voice becoming more reassuring. “Listen, Amos,” I said. “We can work out a deal for you, but you have to help us.”

There was a moment where everything seemed to hang in the balance, when Amos’s decision was a thread that could unravel at any moment. Then, he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, a resignation in his voice that was almost pitiful. “Okay, I’ll do it. But please, you have to protect me. Go in there and kill him. Take him out.”

As we prepared to confront whatever lay behind the panic room door, I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. The culmination of everything August had worked for, fought for—the reason James had died, why Annie had been taken—was beyond that door. The person at the center of all the pain and suffering. The door to the panic room loomed before us, a formidable barrier between us and the architect of all this madness.

August inclined his head. I was taking the rear, and I did one final check on ammunition. I assumed whoever was in there could see us, and I scooped up a semi in my left hand. If they came out shooting, they weren’t getting past me. Solid and fixed, I watched August grab Amos by the scruff of his neck, near dragging him to the door. Amos floundered, pulled August off-balance and, for a second time, stopped. Was this a ploy? I aimed my weapon at Amos, but he wasn’t trying anything, he was unable to stand. August thrust him at the wall, Amos letting out a winded noise as he used his handprint to open a master switch.

August stilled his hand and glanced back at me.

I’ve got this.

“Do it,” August demanded.

Amos whimpered, bashing at numbers on the keypad, a red light indicating an error. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he shouted and cleared the numbers as August growled at him. “You’re making me nervous!”

August shoved him again, but this time, Amos keyed numbers in with care. There was a hiss of something hydraulic, and the wall began to move. Amos squeaked, a fearful terrified sound, then fainted dead away, smacking his face on the floor, sprawled out, almost dragging August down with him. August released his hold, going to a crouch—him low, me high—and we waited as the door opened and slid into a recess.

It was dark beyond, and no one came out firing.

“Come out, and we won’t kill you,” August demanded, but there was nothing.

We both listened for any breath, but there was a sense of nothing in there. Silence. August stepped over Amos, and peeked cautiously around the corner, indicating no sign of anyone, then, that he was going in. I took point, waited at the side, ready to shoot anyone that came diving out, and August, chin tipped, eyes focused, stepped inside. He kept to the wall of the space, which I couldn’t make out properly as it was complete darkness against the bright light of the office space.

“Clear,” he announced in the gloom. Empty.

I took a step forward, peering into the room as if my gaze could somehow unveil new secrets or answers. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, frustration and tension knotting together inside me.

A bullet hit me from behind, jarring my balance and sending a shockwave through my body. I staggered forward, disoriented for a moment, my knee bending under me, the sharp pain of something snapping made me cry out. Then, the unmistakable sound of two more gunshots burst through the air. I twisted instinctively as I fell, bringing up my gun and firing wildly, missing anything and everyone as I slumped to the ground, my breath gone.

Amos grinned, no longer the cowering, terrified figure we had confronted moments ago. Instead, he stood tall, imposing, his entire demeanor transformed into one of confidence and control. The assault rifle in his hand was steady, trained on me.

For a split second, I froze, my mind grappling with the sudden shift. The impact of the bullet in my back had been absorbed by my vest, saving me from a fatal wound, but the force of the shots had me reeling, and the pain radiating from my leg meant it was a sure bet I wouldn’t be walking out of here. Amos hadn’t aimed to kill; this was a message, a warning.

But then, with a chilling calm, Amos slammed his hand on the wall next to him and the door began to close.

“Bye, you crazy kids,” he said, and in those few, stretched seconds, a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Where was August? What was our next move? Why didn’t he fire? Could I reach my own weapon in time?

The door slammed shut even as I threw myself at it, scrabbling at the metal, not finding a purchase.

“August! Help me get us out of here!” I shouted, but there was nothing.

No sound at all.

Disoriented and still grappling with the sudden betrayal from Amos, I turned around, my vision blurry and unsteady. The room was plunged into an unsettling darkness, the kind that plays tricks on your eyes and mind. I fumbled for the small torch I always carried, my fingers wrapping around it with a sense of urgency.

A narrow beam of light cut through the darkness, casting eerie shadows dancing along the walls. My heart pounded, a rapid beat that seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. I swept the torch around, the light trembling with the unsteadiness of my hand, and my leg throbbing.

The room appeared empty, nothing. But it was the glint of something in the corner that caught my eye. I steadied the beam, and my breath hitched in my throat.

August. Crumpled in a heap, his body still. The pool of blood surrounding him seemed to grow as I watched, a darkness across the concrete floor. My mind reeled, a mix of fear, anger, and disbelief swirling together.

“August!” I called out, my voice sounding hollow in the enclosed space. There was no response, just the oppressive silence that seemed to thicken with each passing second.

My movements frantic, the torchlight bobbing wildly, I hobbled to him and went to one knee, my other one too fucked to bend, and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly. “August, come on, man. Stay with me,” I urged, but he was unresponsive, his body limp under my touch.

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