Page 85 of The Irish Redemption

And if he’s harmed her, I will never be able to forgive myself.

“Evie!” I yell, skidding to a stop in a room filled with gigantic empty vats. “Evie, where are you?”

If she’s not here, I’ll pick apart that fucker’s GPS until I find her. I won’t stop.

Each room is emptier and more ramshackle than the last. Every so often, I hear the cries of the people here to help me, and each onesends my heart further into my gut that it’s not Evelyn’s gorgeous voice yelling back at me.

A set of rickety metal stairs takes me down deeper into the factory where a sudden icy chill wraps around me like freezing fog. It’s dark, so I pull my phone out to use as a flashlight, and the screen immediately fogs from my fingertips. Under the bright beam of light, I find hope in a few steps.

A chair set up at a table containing fast food wrappers that still shine with grease. Too recent to have been left here before the factory closed.

“Evie?”

I send a message to everyone demanding they get down here immediately, and my pace picks back up into a run as I follow subtle signs of life. Scuffs on the ground, a few empty plastic water bottles, and flickering lights come into view as I round a corner.

And then something odd.

I hear water. Running water inside the walls. “What the…?” This place is long abandoned, so why is there running water? It could be a burst pipe, considering I’m certain I’ve ventured into the basement, but something pulls me into following it just as footsteps thunder up behind me.

“Got something?” Rocky pants, his face flushed from the sprint. “It’s fucking bitter down here.”

“Aye, you hear that?”

Rocky tilts his head, then nods. “Water.”

“Aye.”

“This place shouldn’t have anything accessing it,” Rocky says. “You think it was Noah?”

“Who else?”

Together we jog down the corridor, hugging close to the wall to ensure we take the right turns with the direction of the water. It grows louder and louder until it’s almost deafening, then we stumble to a stop in front of a heavy metal door.

“The fuck is this?”

“Entrance to one of the upstairs vats,” Rocky explains. “This place is old. Vats like these were used to house gallons of water or dye for fabrics, but you needed drainage and maintenance. Water-tight door so nothing floods but access for when it’s empty and you have drainage issues.”

I’d comment on his fabric knowledge if I weren’t so overwhelmed by a sudden, sick realization. “Evie!” My fists pound on the door, and I grab the handle, fighting to turn the wheel with all my strength.

“Fuck. It’ll be sealed if it detects water!”

“Then find a way to fucking turn it off!” I yell at Rocky. “Evie! Evie, I’m here! Fuck!”

Rocky sprints away in search of exactly that while I pull at the locking mechanism with every ounce of strength I have, and then some. I pull until my muscles burn hot with pain, and still I keep going, straining with everything I have.

It doesn’t budge.

“Evie!” I scream her name and pound as hard as I can at the door.

She’s in there. I know she is.

I can’t lose her.

Not after all this.

Rage and fear consume me, restricting my breathing as I pound with all my might against the old metal door standing between me and thelove of my life. Pain is a distant thought, drowned under the white-hot anger that fuels my fury and flailing fists. I punch and punch, throwing shoulder after shoulder at the door. I wrestle with the handle until my fingers are ready to pop right out of their sockets, and still, I fight.

Finally, the metal bends.

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