“Your destination is 2 miles ahead,” the voice said.
Headlights shone their way as they entered the wooded area. A big, dilapidated wooden house came into view. The house was completely dark, abandoned.
Dante stopped the vehicle, picked up his gun, and jumped out, shutting his door, hearing all the car doors shutting as everyone got out. The chill in the air raised the hair on the back of his neck, something dark roiling inside his gut as he looked at the house. It wasn’t just the setting or the house that was creepy, but the air around it was nefarious with screams unheard and stories untold. Dante had always kept his heart and senses open and they were all vibrating with tension at that moment.
Giving the men behind him a nod, he exchanged a look with Tristan and motioned him forward with two fingers. Tristan nodded back, and they hunched down, keeping the tall grass as cover as they crept forward.
A crooked board hung to the side of the house, its print faded. Dante squinted, trying to read the print but it was too faded to make out.
“I see shadows by the right window,” Vin’s voice whispered low from behind him. Dante looked and saw some dark movement as well. On quiet footsteps, he crossed the yard and went up the porch, the wooden boards groaning under his weight, giving him away. Adrenaline pumping through his blood, Dante nodded back at his companions.
Stealth lost, he raised his hands and pointed the gun straight, unlocking it, and kicked the door in. The poor state of the wood made the door crash in.
Bullets fired from the inside and Dante took cover. His side was already grazed; he didn’t want another on his body, thanks very much.
“Take them back,” he ordered Vin and two other guys, who ran around the back of the house. Dante bent low and took off his jacket, holding it in his hand, waiting.
Another shot rang out from the inside, and pinning the location mentally, Dante straightened, throwing the jacket in the face of his assailant, blinding him momentarily, long enough to shoot out his knees.
He looked at the Outfit soldier behind Tristan and ordered, “Disarm him, drag him out, and keep him alive for interrogation.”
“Yes, boss,” the guy got to work, as Dante and Tristan went deeper into the dark house, only the moonlight coming in from the windows guiding them.
“One guy blew his face off,” Vin’s voice came from the other side. “Another ran into the woods. Liam and Alek are on him.”
Dante nodded, body strung tight, ears open, listening for any untoward sound. It was eerily quiet, no natural sounds of the night, nothing except his regulated breathing and the blood in his ears. But he could sense they weren’t alone. He felt eyes on himself, but couldn’t pin from where.
“We have company,” he muttered softly to Tristan and Vin. “Stay close.”
Walking forward, deeper into the house, he came to a foyer of sorts, with a staircase that went up, and began to climb. On the first floor, he checked each door, careful not to miss anyone. Vin took the second floor while Tristan stayed on the ground. In a few minutes, the house was checked and empty.
“That was it?” Tristan asked softly. “We busted in for that guy outside? It doesn’t make sense.”
No, it didn’t. They were missing something.
The sound of a glass breaking from the ki
tchen had them all alert and running in the direction. They came in, the entire space empty, a glass broken over the floor, pieces shattered right over a trapdoor.
Exchanging a glance with his companions, Dante squat down and gripped the metal handle which was surprisingly not cold to the touch, meaning someone had touched it recently and heaved it open.
And looked down at eight pairs of innocent, terrified eyes looking up at them.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Vin mumbled. “Those are boys.”
Those were boys indeed – young, not older than ten, dirty boys.
“C’mon,” he cajoled in a gentle voice even as his blood boiled, extending his hand to one of them, putting his gun down. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
One of the boys stuttered, “Will-will you take us home?”
Fuck, his heart was going to come out of his fucking chest.
“Yeah,” Dante promised. “We’ll send you boys home. C’mon out of there. It looks dirty.”
“It smells bad too,” another boy said. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
Before Dante could reply, a third boy, one with bright eyes the color of which Dante couldn’t make out, stated. “They are. He told me about the blue-eyed one,” he said, pointing to Tristan.