Page 3 of Shadow

Shadow shook his head in response. He still had his knife and so did Rooster, but if there were more Reapers downstairs with guns, then they were done for.

“Me neither, but on the upside, no one came after us so far,” Rooster said.

“Rooster, Shadow, we’re leaving soon!” yelled a voice from somewhere inside the building.

Shadow tightened his jaw. He thought he saw a ghostly image of Trish standing before him. She looked down at the passageway, then back at him.

There was a hidden plea in her blue eyes. Shadow gritted his teeth. Shadow normally didn’t believe in fate or in spirits, but at that very moment, he truly believed Trish had brought him here for a reason. Backing out wasn’t an option.

“Five minutes!” Shadow called back.

Rooster and Shadow continued their descent. They found themselves in a dirty, dimly lit underground space. Shadow’s heart sank as he realized they had stumbled upon a prison of sorts—rows of cells lined the walls, their metal bars rusted and caked with grime.

Miserable faces of women peered back at them from behind their confines, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

A string of curses escaped Rooster’s lips as he took in the grim scene before them, his fists clenched in frustration. Shadow scanned their surroundings for any sign of danger.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cramped space, causing Shadow to tense instinctively. He whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife at his side, ready to defend himself.

The man that appeared wore a leather jacket with the patch of the Reapers. Without a second thought, Shadow charged at him, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he tackled the biker to the ground.

The other biker went down easily, his surprised expression quickly replaced by a look of pain as Shadow’s knife found its mark. He stood back up.

Shadow waited for the telltale sound of reinforcements rushing to their aid, as he realized it was just them and the women in the prison.

Rooster gripped Shadow’s shoulder. “I’ll run back upstairs, get more guys to help us out. Meanwhile, try to see if that bastard you just killed has a set of keys on him,” he suggested, already turning to jog back up the stairs.

Shadow turned his attention to the fallen biker, his hands fumbling as he searched for any sign of keys. To his relief, he found a set hidden in the man’s inner jacket pockets.

He approached the nearest cell, the metal keys clutched tightly in his hand. As he inserted the keys into the lock and turned, nothing happened. It didn’t matter. He had a whole set of keys to try.

Chapter Two

Camilla Hernandez clutched the shard of glass tightly in her hand, her fingers trembling. Blood trickled down her palm, staining her skin crimson, but she paid it no mind. How long had she been debating, resting the sharp edge against her skin? Hours, maybe. Time seemed to pass differently in her prison, each second stretching out to eternity.

She had long ago given up hope that her brother would send his men to bust her out of this place, hope that someone—anyone—would come to her rescue. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into a month, she had come to accept the harsh reality of her situation.

No one knew she was here. No one would care. In the grand scheme of her brother’s empire, she was nothing more than a pawn, easily sacrificed for the greater good.

A shiver ran down Camilla’s spine, the cold seeping into her bones as she huddled in the dimly lit cell. With a resigned sigh, she dropped her makeshift weapon to the ground, the shard of glass clattering against the cold concrete floor. For a moment, she stared at it, her mind racing with dark thoughts.

She could use it on Rigs, the man who held all the keys to this prison, the man who had sneered at her with contempt as he spoke of his MC’s grand plans for her.

“You’ll end up making us rich,” Rigs had said with a chuckle. “Do you know how many buyers would pay to break Fernando Hernandez’s little sister?”

She could take him down with her, ensure he paid for the suffering he had inflicted upon her and the other women. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Camilla hesitated. What if her plan ended up backfiring? Rigs was bigger, meaner, and could certainly overpower her in a matter of seconds. He’d just toss her makeshift weapon aside and laugh in her face.

The sound of sobbing reached her ears. Camilla’s heart clenched in fear as she recognized the telltale signs. Rigs would surely pay a visit to the source of the disturbance.

If Rigs was in a foul mood, he wouldn’t hesitate to silence her permanently. With a trembling hand, Camilla tried to block out the noise, to focus on anything but the impending threat.

As she strained to ignore the cries of anguish, strange new sounds began to reach her ears— the muffled thump of something heavy hitting the floor, the murmur of voices in hushed tones.

Curiosity gnawed at her, pulling her toward the cell door despite the fear that gripped her heart. Pressing her ear against the rough wood, she strained to make out the source of the commotion. She wasn’t kept in the normal cells like the others, but in a special room—a fact that had always filled her with a sense of unease.

As she listened intently, her instincts screamed that something was amiss. The voices she heard didn’t belong to Rigs or any of his lackeys. No, these were unfamiliar. Intruders? Enemies of the Reapers?

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Camilla’s veins as she realized something had changed. If these intruders were discovered, they would surely face a fate worse than death at the hands of Rigs and his men.

---