Page 55 of Doc's Decision

Every second we wait is another moment Seraphina suffers.

We turn to leave, heavy boots thudding on the polished floor.

At the door, Turmoil pauses and looks back at Bernard. "We'll bring her back safe and sound. I fucking swear it."

His eyes glitter, hard as diamonds. "You'd better. And when she's safe, you contact me immediately so we can deal with her mother. Permanently."

Turmoil nods curtly.

The unspoken threat hangs heavy in the air.

We file out to our bikes, engines rumbling to life like a snarling beast.

Adrenaline surges through my veins as we roar out of the gated community.

Wind whips at my cut as I push my bike to its limits.

Hold on, Seraphina. We're coming for you.

And god help anyone who stands in our way.

The heat shimmers in waves off the black asphalt as we speed north through the Nevada desert.

Sweat trickles down my back beneath heavy leather, but I barely feel the scorching sun.

We turn off the main highway onto a dusty gravel road, kicking up clouds of grit.

Up ahead, a cluster of dilapidated buildings hunches against the barren landscape.

As we draw closer, I make out faded lettering on a weathered sign: "Desert Springs Wellness Facility".

The irony makes me want to puke.

I kill the engine and swing off my bike, boots crunching on sun-baked earth.

The place looks like it's been abandoned for years, paint peeling off crumbling walls.

But there's a few cars parked haphazardly around the property.

And I can hear the faint hum of a generator.

Turmoil mutters, pulling up beside me. "You sure this is the right place?"

I murmur. “This has to be it. It’s our best chance at getting your girl.”

I check my gun, slick metal warm against my palm.

The familiar weight is a cold comfort.

Dixon and Mouser flank me, weapons drawn, faces grim.

We approach the sagging front door, our senses on high alert.

It's eerily quiet, just the creak of our leathers and the wind whistling through decaying buildings.

I raise a booted foot, about to kick the door in, when it suddenly swings open.

A weaselly-looking man in a white coat blinks out at us from behind wire-rimmed glasses. "Can I help?—"

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