Page 88 of Rescuing Rebel

The holding cells. The showers. The operating room. The bins…

I suppress a shudder, moving quietly. There’s one final place down here I have yet to explore. The records room beside the OR has been locked to me. Hopefully, this room holds details about my sister.

The sister whose ghost drives my every action.

I pause outside the locked door, its dark wood faded but still imposing. My pulse thrums as I retrieve the ring of stolen keys from my pocket—keys lifted from a careless guard whose eyes lingered too long on my body. Men are easily fooled when they think with the wrong head.

The key slips soundlessly into the lock, and breath hisses between my teeth as the tumblers align. The knob turns under my hand, and I’m inside, pushing the door closed behind me.

THIRTY-TWO

Rebel

My heart skips a beat.No one has entered this room in ages. Thick layers of dust coat the rows of metal filing cabinets lining the walls. The air is heavy with the musty scent of old paper soaked into the walls.

Kaufman puts nothing in electronic form if he can avoid it. Paper can’t be traced. It exists in this room, and only in this room, with no copies ever made. I’ve learned that much when asking about the procedures the Angels will endure after they’ve been sold.

I suppress a shudder, squaring my shoulders. No time for hesitation.

Methodically, I begin working through the files, scanning the names and dates. Most of the records are appallingly detailed—photos, medical charts, and client forms. All chronicling the misery inflicted within Haven’s walls. All documenting the monsters who keep this place churning.

All documentingwhoeach woman was sold to. That’s what I need. Who bought my sister? I’ll figure out the rest after that.

My eyes blur, bile rising in my throat as the minutes stretch by. So many broken souls are reduced to data and photographs. But there are too many files. Rows of filing cabinets stretch before me, hundreds upon hundreds of medical records.

How am I going to find Violet’s record in all of this? It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack; I only have seven minutes.

Seven minutes before I need to head back.

My mind begins calculations, and I stop that before it gets too far. It’s too much. Too hard. Impossible even.

But I’ll take seven minutes over never having this chance.

The sound of approaching voices slices through my churning emotions.

No, not yet!

No time to hide before the heavy tread of boots stops outside the door.

I cross the small room in a flash, flicking off the light and pressing into the corner, praying the darkness hides me. Not a breath stirs the air as the knob turns, and three hulking guards step inside, sweeping flashlight beams over the dusty cabinets.

“Thought I heard something,” one of the men mutters, his pockmarked face creased in suspicion as he peers into the gloom.

I sink deeper into the darkness, my pounding heart surely loud enough to give me away. The guards merely grunt, make a cursory sweep, and then leave, securing the door behind them.

I dare to exhale only after their footsteps fade, gulping air into my starved lungs. That was too close. I won’t get lucky again.

Still reeling from my discovery, I make my way back through the bowels of Haven, mind churning over how to find one record out of hundreds.

I wish I could tell Ethan. I long to rush to him, to unburden myself of the dangerous knowledge now burning a hole inside me, but I can’t be so selfish. His mission must come first. If my Angels have any hope of rescue, it’ll be because of him and his team. I trust him implicitly, but involving him now in my search could distract him from why he’s here.

By the time I reach the upper levels, I’m composed and don the mask of a cold-blooded trainer once more. Straightening my shoulders, I push open the training room door, readying myself for another brutal session of crushing souls.

But the room is empty, the Angels nowhere to be seen. Before panic can set in, the door opens again behind me.

“Looking for something, my dear?”

Kaufman.

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