Page 48 of Dust and Ashes

She’d only gone there a couple of times when they’d deigned to give her half a sandwich. “That way?” She pointed right.

“Left.”

“Oh, okay.” She headed left and stepped from the dim hallway to the expansive hall. Probably an old meeting place. She didn’t want to think about the group who built this compound or why they wanted basement holding rooms. Holding cells.

Probably a group like the one she’d met in northern Washington. It was only a short time ago but felt like much longer. She felt that way about her time with Bradley, making years feel like decades.

Even more recently, that time with Jax unconscious seemed like weeks ago. Or when she’d found him in the other building hanging from that chain. Being alone had a way of warping everything. Or maybe not alone. But on her own.

Facing down the darkness by herself.

Not her favorite thing to do, but it happened more often than not in her line of work. It was the road she had chosen, or the inevitable end of the path she was on.

If she wanted to avoid the terrors most people only sought out in their entertainment, she would’ve found a different job. Like at a bowling alley, or a movie theater.

Benjamin was stretched out on a long table. He stared at the ceiling, no light in his eyes. Blood covered his chest. He was gone.

Ramon lay on top of a table, writhing while two men worked on him.

“What are you doing?” She shoved one man away.

The other had pliers in Ramon’s shoulder.

She yelled, “Stop!”

He didn’t. “Gotta get the bullet out.”

“You’re hurting him more!”

The men all ignored her.

She looked at each one in turn. No care registered on any of their faces. Not even grief for their dead friend. “What do you think Navarro will do when he finds out you let one of his men get shot?”

Kart stared at her with that same impassive lethality. Like nothing fazed him—except the threat of failing to do what Elliot wanted. “I guess we should let Navarro’s man die, then? Rather than attempt to save his life.”

Before she could argue with that, the man with the pliers said, “Got it.” Metal clanged against metal, then he peeled open a packet of gauze.

Kenna snatched it from him. “I’ll do it.” She pressed it on the wound.

Ramon jerked. His eyes fluttered open.

“Just me.” She turned to Kart. “Did you call the doctor?”

“Why?” The other man cleaned off his hands with a wet wipe. “I fixed him up.”

She looked over her shoulder at Kart.

“So it’s true, then.” Kart lifted his chin. “He is a fed.”

“No, he isn’t, and neither am I.” She kept applying pressure on the bandage, using what strength she had—which amounted to a lot of elbows and leaning.

“But he was, right? Like you.”

Kenna didn’t have time to get into this. “Someone needs to stitch him up, and I don’t know how to do it. So call the doctor.”

Kart said, “Everyone out.”

“They killed Benjamin.” The man who’d removed the bullet finished wiping his hands and tossed the bloody wipe at her.

---