Page 79 of The Woman in the Warehouse

Maybe it was time to retire.

To call it quits.

I could use a small cut of what I had to start a business to provide a passive income that could keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. Maybe this was all a sign to hang up my hat, end this before my mother was grieving the loss of her only surviving relative.

This would be a hell of a job to go out on.

But I didn’t give a fuck.

No one was judging me but myself.

I was still imagining what a life without work would look like when the car finally slowed, then pulled to a stop.

The music stayed on as the car shifted, men climbing out, doors slamming.

Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself to stay calm as the trunk lid popped up, and a man leaned over me.

I didn’t look at him though; he didn’t matter.

I looked past him, trying to equate myself with my surroundings.

It was hard to see in the dark, but the American flag with the tattered edge hanging out front of the house next door was a dead giveaway.

This was the house of horrors.

But all the lights were out.

My stomach twisted, thinking that Anthony and Elio were gone, that Matej was maybe upstairs asleep, regaining his strength, only to potentially be murdered in his own bed when they realized he was missing.

Hands reached for me, hauling me out of the trunk, my shoulders screaming as they yanked me hard enough to pull me over the hump of the trunk, then slam down onto my knees before I could even straighten my stiff legs.

“Get her inside,” another voice demanded.

Four hands grabbed my arms and armpits, and I prayed my trusty old bra could keep the damn gun in place as they pulled me toward the back door.

“I can walk,” I snapped, trying to stand as they kept dragging.

“Shut the fuck up,” the man on my left snarled, fingers digging in painfully. I got the feeling he wanted a reaction from me. Which was exactly why I pressed my lips together and focused on my breath. I’d be damned if I let him know how much it hurt where he was grabbing me, how there were likely bruises already starting to form.

Maybe this was when I should have sucked in a breath and screamed bloody murder.

But some part of me was worried that maybe Anthony and Elio were in the house, that they might be lying in wait to ambush these fuckers. And I didn’t want to risk them getting into any sort of trouble if the police rushed into a crime scene, and decided to try to pin it on them.

So I was dragged up the staircase, each step knocking into my knees and shins as I let myself go completely limp, forcing them to carry my dead weight up the steep steps.

Petty?

Maybe.

But exhaustion made for a slower opponent if this came down to a fight. The more I could tire out their muscles, the better the odds would be in my favor.

So they carried my limp self up the stairs, across the back porch, and in through the darkened kitchen.

I expected to be smacked in the face with the scent of bleach, and it was definitely lingering a bit, but the guys must have been airing out the place all day.

On each of my sides, the men seemed completely oblivious to the scent, to the possible ramifications of it.

Unless…

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