Page 24 of Grayson

“He’s not,” smirked Grayson. “He’s propped by the door. He’s dead.”

Gunner pushed the door to the cellar open, the loud creak making the mood all the more perfect. Six men turned, weapons at the ready.

“Jacques? Is that you?” called one man. “If you’re screwing with us I’ll fucking kill you!”

No one answered and the men stilled, staring into the cavernous opening.

“It’s just the wind,” said one of the men.

He turned to look at the sleeping children in the cage. Kids weren’t his thing but the sweet little teacher that had attempted to save them definitely was. Her clothing was gone, now only dressed in a man’s t-shirt, no undergarments. She didn’t need them. They’d been taking their turns with her for days.

One of the men walked toward the door and saw their friend leaning against the outside wall.

“It’s fine. He’s out there. Probably just fucking lonely,” grinned the man. Suddenly his feet were in the air and he was face down against the stone steps. His nose cracked, breaking as it hit, then another sickening sound. His neck.

They all stared at him. The awkward angle of his neck against the steps seemed odd. He’d only tripped. His neck shouldn’t have snapped so easily.

“Wh-what the fuck is happening?” said one of the other men. He gripped the weapon in his hand, spinning as if to see something coming his way.

He turned again, staring at his friends, all standing upright, blood draining from their necks. Their hands were at their own throats, as if gripping the invisible offender, then falling with their bodies to the stone floor.

Panicked he began firing blindly, the children now wide awake and crying again. He held the trigger until there was no sound and stared at the cage.

“Shut up! Shut up now!” he screamed. The teacher pulled the children to her, holding them against her abused body.

“Who-who’s there?” he stammered. The lights went out and then back on. In front of him stood fourteen men and one familiar woman. “You.”

“Yes, me,” she said staring at him.

“Who are you? You’re just a nun!” he yelled waving the empty weapon at her.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not a nun at all.”

“Honey, go with Striker and Conor. Get the kids out of here and to safety. That woman needs a doctor.”

She nodded at her father, carefully guiding the kids from the room. Gunner gripped the man’s neck, forcing him to sit next to the old wine barrels. He noticed a mallet on the table and smiled.

“They used to use these to open the vats, put a spout in them,” he grinned. “I have a better use for them.” Gunner slammed the mallet down on the man’s hand, his bones cracking as he did. The scream was agonizing.

“Scream all you want pretty boy,” said Jethro. “Where is the man called Lacroix.”

“I-I don’t know! I swear I don’t know,” he cried cradling his hand against his chest. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, we know that game,” said Rowe. “You’ll run like a little bitch to Lacroix and then to Moreau.”

His eyes grew wide and he started to cry. It was a pathetic cry, especially for a man his age. He’d most likely worked for Moreau for at least a decade and yet here he was crying, begging for freedom.

“Where is Lacroix?” asked Grayson holding down his other hand.

“No! Please, no!” he begged. “I don’t know. Boss told him to leave the woman alone. To focus on the shipments. He’s obsessed with getting her.”

“Why?” growled Moose.

“He-he took photos of her for our clients. Someone really big wants her. She’s going to make a lot of money for him, after he takes her a few times.”

Moose punched the man so hard, his chair flew backwards, his ears ringing with the loss of hearing.

“Ohhh, not a good thing to say to the big man,” frowned Hunter. “One minute. Where is Lacroix?”