Page 142 of Monster Mania

A loud bang pulled her back to the present. The door to the church rattled in its frame. Grace stumbled backward, her gaze darting around the room for something she could use as a weapon.

The chairs were heavy. The table was heavier. There were no windows and only one exit.

She spotted a wooden gavel near Grimm’s chair. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, but it was better than nothing. Grace grabbed it and held it against her chest. The handle moved, and she hurried to the side of the door, raising the gavel above her shoulder. The lock disengaged, and the door opened.

Grace swung. A hand caught her wrist before the gavel connected with a skull.

“Jesus Christ!” The young man who had brought her into the room twisted her arm until she released the weapon. It struck the floor between them. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“You broke in,” she said.

“I have a key,” he explained.

“That’s not better,” she said. His frightened gaze dropped to the gavel before returning to her face. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, and the patch on the front of his cut identified him as a prospect.

“Grimm sent me,” he said.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“At the gate,” the prospect said.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“The Vales want you,” he admitted.

“I already knew that,” she said.

“They’re threatening to come onto club property and take you.” A chill moved through her that had nothing to do with her wet dress.

“Will Grimm let them?” she questioned.

The prospect looked offended. “Nobody comes onto our property without permission.”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said.

“No, he won’t let them,” the prospect said. Grace bent and retrieved the gavel. The prospect took a cautious step away from her. “Grimm told me to move you downstairs.”

“I told him I wasn’t going,” she spat.

“And he told me you wouldn’t like it,” the prospect admitted.

“Then he shouldn’t be surprised when I refuse,” she said.

“I’m not supposed to come back without you,” the guy said.

“That sounds like your problem.” A rumble shook the walls. This time, it wasn’t gunfire. Thunder rolled above the clubhouse, rattling something in the ceiling. The emergency lights flickered. Grace imagined the room going completely dark.

Her courage slipped. “What’s downstairs?” she asked.

“Storage, a storm shelter, and a few locked rooms,” he said.

“Locked from which side?” she asked.

“All of them,” he said.

“That answer isn’t comforting,” she said.

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” he insisted. The prospect reached for her arm, and Grace raised the gavel again.