Page 122 of Hell and High Water

The upper level is small, only a couple of rooms.

Peering into the window, I can just make out a sliver of the room past the curtains. The locking mechanism is simple, an easy pick, but I have to hope my dad’s security system is turned off, or this will be a very loud, short visit.

Inside, I note the signs of struggle. The furniture in the room has been pushed aside. A single chair sits right in the middle of the familiar room.

Stale sweat and blood tinge the air.

Someone was interrogated here recently. Likely tortured. Dammit, Dad.

Across from me, the door is ajar, leading me out onto the upstairs landing. “Anything?”

“No. Heading down to the ground floor.”

Creeping down the stairs takes every bit of muscular control, taking care to keep my steps utterly silent. Good thing, too, as I spot a single guard standing in the entry below.

My focus is razor sharp as I slip up behind him, kicking out his legs and locking him in a stranglehold. He’s just slumping to the floor when I hear a tinkling of glass and a very loud thump behind me.

Turning slowly, I see another guard sprawled out on his back, a huge tranquilizer dart sticking out of his chest.

“You're welcome.” Gavin’s growl is smug.

“Nice shot!” Ora chirps.

The tiny hole in the window between the barely opened curtains to my right tells me just how good of a shot it really was. Gavin must have only had a sliver of a view into the room from his vantage. Shivering slightly, I step over the bodies, drawing my gun as I approach the door to the cellar.

“Thanks for saving my ass.”

“Thank me when you’re back on this side of the wall.”

He’s right. I’m not done.

Unlocking the door to the cellar, I take a deep breath as foul smells reach my nostrils.

I brace myself for the worst as I descend the old wooden stairs. This basement always creeped me out as a kid.

Now, it’s a whole other level of disturbing.

Especially when I see him, huddled in the corner, a beam of light from the high set window casting him in shadows. He’s clearly been beaten.

My only relief is to find that he’s alone. My mother and sister are nowhere to be found.

“Tyler? Mayor Vanderberg?” I whisper, leaning down to inspect his half-naked body.

I flinch at the sight of razor marks, bruising, lash marks. They went to town on him.

He’s a bloody mess.

“T–Tyler?” His rasping voice startles me. For a minute, I really thought he was dead.

“I’m here, Dad.”

“Good. Good.” He’s delirious.

“Come on, old man. We need to get you out of here.” Not that I have any clue how to do that. Crouching down in front of him, I catch his eye as he raises his head to look at me.

A small, faint grin pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“You look good, Tyler,” he slurs, trying to sit up straighter to see me.

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