Page 4 of Victorious: Part I

The temperature drops instantly, raising goose bumps along my arms. My eyes slowly adjust when I move deeper into the shadows, the outside light fading behind me with each careful, stealthy step.

Inside, it smells like decade-old death and tetanus waiting to happen. I navigate around ancient machinery, casually munching on a drumstick. Even though my mind is hyper-focused on the task at hand, the sassy part of me is switched on right now.

Whoever this is, they’re certainly in for a mouthful, and it won’t be of chicken.

Continuing through, I take in everything around me. Meat hooks hang from ceiling tracks, swaying slightly in the stale air. My eyes shift to the concrete beneath them, where obvious pools of dried blood have been left as if those stains are the celebration of a job well done. The color variations tell me some are much fresher than others.

Each one makes my mind flash to what they might have done to Livvy.

Then to her daughter, Poppy, and how she will react if something were to happen to her mother.

Then to Alpha.

Livvy may be his ex-wife, but there’s still love between them that will never fade because of Poppy and everything they went through to get her back.

I may be a new addition to their family, but I adore Livvy. Don’t ask me how, but the four of us just work.

If I am the reason she doesn’t come home to them—

Focus, Haven.

She needs you clear-headed to get through this.

Are these things still running?

The steady hum of industrial freezers provides background noise, masking my footsteps as I press forward. The electricity bill must be a bitch. A copper taste floods my mouth that has nothing to do with the chicken, the air now thick with the metallic scent of blood.

Fresh blood.

A door creaks somewhere to my left, and instantly, my sassiness is brought to the forefront.

“You know…” I call out, tossing my chicken bone aside casually, “… if you wanted to have dinner with me, you coulda just asked. Though, I gotta say, your choice of restaurant leaves something to be desired. You could have set the mood a little. I’m all for dark and mysterious, but the vibe check of this place isnotgetting my juices flowing. If you know what I mean?”

Two figures step out from the darker corners, weapons already locked on me. Their movements are rigid, precise, practiced, making it obvious they’re guards. But it’s the dead-eyed stare, the way they gesture like I’m nothing but cargo, that really seals it.

I raise my chicken leg in a lazy toast and smile sweetly at the both of them. “Sooo, we’re sticking with the ominous, dark vibes then?”

They don’t answer, don’t even blink, just point their guns toward the hall, all business and zero personality. One of them takes a step closer, giving me a hefty shove, not hard enough to knock me off balance—but enough to make his point.

“Oh, honey, youknowI like it rough.” I giggle, batting my lashes like I’m flirting instead of being frog-marched at gunpoint.

“Shut up and keep moving,” he growls, voice like gravel, all bite, and no patience.

I give him a mocking little bow, then roll my eyes as I start walking as slow as I damn well please. “You seem hangry. Do you want some?” I offer, holding up the chicken leg again like I’m being generous. He curls his lip, clearly offended I’m even speaking. “So, that’s a hard no, then?” I shrug like I couldn’t care less while he looks at me like he seriously wants to stab me in the eye. “Your loss. More for me.” I take another bite, savoring it to spite him, and let them lead me deeper into the facility, past processing rooms, and storage areas. My heart pounds harder with every step, but I keep my expression bored and my eyes sharp, clocking every exit.

The freezer hum grows louder until we reach what must have been the main processing floor. The smell of old blood and rust is more pungent here. But there’s something else—something fresher. My nostrils flare at the unmistakable scent of copper, making my stomach roll.

Recent blood.

A lot of it.

The guards lead me through a set of double doors, and the first thing I notice is the metal table in the center of the room. Industrial lights cast harsh shadows across the steel surface, and I make out the silhouette of someone strapped down on the cold steel.

My chest tightens as I recognize those normally perfect blonde waves, even matted and drenched in blood.

No, no, no.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper under my breath, my carefully maintained mask cracking for a millisecond.

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