Page 6 of Dreadful

“Now it's really time to go, baby.” Rafe hauls me up, keeping me in front of him as he starts moving us deeper into the warehouse.

Shots tear through the pallets beside us, splintering wood hard enough that pieces sting across my cheek. Rafe spins around, keeping one hand on me as he fires behind us. Smoke rolls along the walls, rising to the ceiling and filling it too quickly.

“Lola!” My voice rips raw from my throat, swallowed by gunfire and the groan of failing metal. My eyes rake the smoke-choked catwalks, my stomach a tight knot of dread. Please be okay. Please know where to go.

We sprint deeper into the warehouse between heavy machinery. Smoke thickens overhead, turning the waning light hazy and uneven while sparks continue raining from above.

Something sharp cracks to my left. I flinch hard toward Rafe before I can stop myself, but when I look, there’s no new hole in the wall, no fresh spray of debris. Just smoke and the low, structural groan of the building eating itself alive.

Lola drops from the catwalk ladder ten feet ahead, landing hard against the concrete before immediately raising her gun again toward the other end of the warehouse.

Relief punches me in the gut, and I exhale sharply. “You okay?”

Her gaze roams over us, snagging on my bleeding arm. Her lips flatten into a straight line. “I'm going to kill those motherfuckers,” she seethes.

“Sure, but later. You started an electrical fire.” I narrow my gaze on her, but it’s hard to be mad when she’s the reason we have an opening to get away.

“And look, we’re all standing here. You’re welcome,” Lola drawls.

Malcolm’s voice cuts through the warehouse. “Run all you want, you fucking coward. I’m still going to put you to ground.”

Rafe ignores him as the four of us flat-out run toward the back exit. Smoke is spreading faster now, thick enough that my eyes start burning as another loud pop echoes somewhere inside the walls.

Beck reaches the doors first, yanking the handle and pulling it hard enough to rattle the very clearly locked doors. "They're locked."

“What?” The word was a sharp inhale from Lola, her eyes wide and the skin around them pulled taut.

Rafe reaches over and pulls hard enough that the muscles in his arms flex beneath his shirt. Rafe’s hand shoots out, gripping the door handle. The tendons in his forearm flex as he throws his weight into it. A dull thud echoes from the lock.

Another muffled thump echoes from deep within the building’s guts, closer this time, shaking dust from the ceiling.

“I fucking told you,” Beck spits through clenched teeth, the words tight. “They’re locked.”

Rafe gives him a single sharp nod. He takes two steps back, Beck mirroring him instantly. Together they drive their boots into the seam where the doors met—once, twice—the impact shuddering through the metal. It doesn’t budge.

The air turns thick and heavy, pressing against my skin like a damp blanket. A fresh bead of sweat traces a path from the base of my skull down between my shoulder blades, soaking into my shirt beneath the jacket. The concrete beneath my sneakers hums with a deep metallic groan that travels up through the soles—something structural giving way deeper in the building.

I press the heel of my hand hard against my temple.

Focus. Think. This is your fault. Your problem to solve.

Lola fires at the general direction of the gunshots. “We're sitting ducks like this. We have to go back through the front.”

My gaze catches on a row of grime-caked windows tucked high in the far corner. “Rafe,” I shout his name, pointing toward my discovery.

“Good find, baby.” Rafe’s hand closes around mine and we move.

Each inhale drags something acrid and hot down into my chest. I swallow against it, but it doesn’t help. My eyes are starting to water.

Beckett doesn’t wait to be told. He yanks a long bar of metal free from a nearby piece of rusted equipment and plants himself beneath the windows.

“Hit the corners, Beck,” Rafe says, already turning his back to us. He fires twice into the smoke.

Beckett swings the metal piece, over and over again until the window explodes outward in a spray of pebbled glass. Cold night air rushes inside instantly.

Relief hits me so hard my knees almost give out.

“All of it,” Rafe barks over his shoulder, pacing in front of me, watching our backs.