Page 61 of Sinful
Maybe that's why I can't turn around now.
Because Helle's someone's sister too.
Elfe's sister, and if I let her die when I could've stopped it—I push the bike faster.
I hit the border area around two AM.
It's exactly what I expected—rural, isolated, nothing but farms and woods and the occasional house set back from the road.
The kind of place where you can scream and nobody hears.
Perfect for a cartel safehouse.
The problem is finding it.
I pull into a gas station—the only one for miles, harsh fluorescent lights cutting through the darkness.
There's a signal here, finally.
Three missed calls from Runes.
Two from Fenrir.
One text from Elfe:
Please find her. Please.
I ignore the calls and pull up satellite maps, looking for properties that match what Los Coyotes would want.
Isolated but accessible. Big enough to hold prisoners and guards. Maintained but not obvious.
There.
Five miles west, off a dirt road.
Property listed as "abandoned farm" in county records, but the satellite images show recent tire tracks, maintained access roads, vehicles.
Someone's using it.
That has to be it.
I call Runes.
He answers on the first ring. "Where the fuck are you?"
"Florida-Georgia border. About five miles from where I think Los Coyotes are holding Ivar."
He’s silent at first, then grits out. "Explain. Now."
"Helle ran. She's planning to turn herself in—trade her life for her father's." I'm already back on the bike, engine rumbling to life. "I followed her. Lost her on the highway, but I figured out where she's going."
"And you didn't think to tell us this before you went rogue?"
"No time. She's fast, and she had a head start. But I need backup—now. I can't wait for you to get here, but I'm going to need help getting Ivar out."
I can hear him thinking, calculating odds and outcomes.
"Fenrir's already mobilizing a team," Runes says finally. "Damon's sending men too. We can be there in ninety minutes. Maybe less if we push it."
