Page 127 of Pink Ink

I feel like I’m in a knock-off Nancy Drew novel.

There’s no way Lawrence isn’t messing with me right now. He has to know that I’m following him, right? And why would a secret deadly organization have someone likeLawrenceas a member? Lawrence, the guy whofed methe crime-scene pictures of murders that may or may not be connected to that very same dangerous society?

If it’s a question of whether I’m dumb enough to risk my safety by going inside, the answer is yes. I am, in fact, stupid enough to follow a crooked cop into a mysterious, secret, ancient tunnel that may or may not lead to a sex dungeon.

I can hear my mom turning in her grave as I take a deep breath and move my feet closer to the potential kink club. The sandstone steps crunch beneath my boots and the echo through the tunnel makes me die inside.

Taking a deep breath, I descend the staircase, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. It only gets worse the lower I get. I guess the silver lining is that I might die of hypothermia before I get murdered.

When I reach the bottom level, it’s like entering into my very own horror movie. Cobwebs and broken sconces decorate the arched stone walls.

Curiosity gets the better of me as I eye the crates lining the tunnel. I lift the lid of one high enough to peer inside. There are a bunch of books, and other stuff like plaques, vases, medallions, and whatnot. I can’t look at them properly without causing a ruckus and letting everyone in the vicinity know I’m here.

My knees click as I lower myself to open a big wooden chest. I grab the padlock, mentally crossing my fingers that it just needs a little wiggle to unlatch. No such luck.

I’m about to move on when the insignia on the lock catches my eye.

A honeycomb.

My heart pounds in double time. The distant sound of heavy footsteps travels down the tunnel from the direction I came. Panic seizes my chest in a vise. I kill my phone light, drop to the dirty floor, and wedge myself up against a chaise with a broken leg, tucking my limbs against my body to make myself as small as possible.

“No,” a deep voice says.

The single syllable has every cell in my body going haywire. I will my eyesight to adjust to the darkness as I frantically search for somewhere better to hide and notice the white cloth lying on the chaise beside me.

Footsteps grow louder as the man continues speaking in a hushed tone. I yank the cloth toward me, covering part of the furniture and my entire body. I curl as tight as I can, melting against the dusty fabric. I’ve never felt more exposed.

My pulse roars in my ears. What if I was right, and the secret society really does exist? I’m sure Maddox’s victims were killed because of it. What if I’m killed next because I found out? Or would they torture me? What if they killed my dad?

Adrenaline sends violent tremors through my hands as I fish through my satchel for my taser. It tumbles onto the stone, and the sound ripples through the tunnel.

I stop breathing.

The footsteps falter. Silence.

I hold perfectly still. Arm trembling in midair. They’re just around the corner. I can hear them. They caught me, and now they’re going to kill me.

It isn’t until the voice starts again that I dare snatch the taser off the ground and hold it against my chest.

“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear. The merger is going through—I said it’s going through, and you are going to do whatever needs to be done to ensure it proceeds as planned—”

I hold my breath, clamping a hand over my mouth and nose to stay completely silent. Light streams through the cloth concealing me. It grows brighter with every step. He’s right there—right in front of me.

He’s not talking. Why isn’t he talking? Blood roars in my ears, screaming my impending doom.

Tears burn my eyes, and a single razor-edged droplet runs down my cheek. I’m in way over my head. This is why Lawrence warned me to steer clear. Why Maddox told me to stop looking into his victims.

A sudden realization makes me nauseous. What if they know I’m onto them, and it wasn’t Maddox who I felt watching me these past few weeks?

The steps carry through the tunnel, losing volume as he walks right past me. “Congressman Wallace will vote yes, and if he doesn’t, you’ll make sure he changes his mind, won’t you?”

I take in my first breath, not daring to move in case he turns around. The taser continues to shake in my hand.

“Good. I don’t want to hear from you until it’s—”

He’s too far away for me to make out the rest. It gets quieter and quieter until the only sound comes from my raging pulse. But I stay exactly where I am long after the last echo flows through the cold space.

It isn’t until every one of my muscles cramps that I muster the confidence to creep out from beneath the fabric. My phone struggles to recognize the touch from my frozen fingers, and it takes too many precious seconds to turn the flashlight back on. Slowly, silently, like I’m a mouse and there’s a beast hunting me, I leave my nest.