Page 22 of Brox Boar

Brox’s jaw is clenched so hard I think his teeth might crack. A vein throbs in his temple. His hands rest at his sides, but they are fists. His eyes burn with something I’ve only seen a few times in my life. Real fury.

The most dangerous version of him.

“We’ve been played,” I say.

“On our own ground.” He mutters.

The anger inside me solidifies into something worse than rage. Purpose.

I turn to Sol, and breathe once, slow. “Find her.”

Sol’s eyes flicker. “Yes, boss.” He backs away without another word, already moving.

Lana is missing. Not running. Not hiding. Not taking a night to breathe. Missing. And that means there is only one outcome left.

We take this place apart, starting with our doctor.

CHAPTER 6

BROX

I don’t even remember leaving Morales’ office. One moment I’m staring at the empty corridor on the monitors, the next I’m out in it, boots hammering on the concrete, Rio right beside me.

“Room by room,” I say. “No one sleeps through this.”

The kennel stretches out ahead, with gray walls, and neat doors. Our pets live here, in controlled comfort. Carefully monitored freedom.

We hit the first door on the left. I punch the code, shove it open.

Inside, one of our girls, Noor, jerks upright on the bed. Dark hair, cover pulled to her chin. Her eyes go round when she sees both of us in the doorway. She doesn’t ask anything.

Her gaze flicks to my gun, then to Rio’s face.

“Stay put,” I tell her. My voice comes out harder than I intend. “You hear anything, you don’t move. You don’t open this door for anyone.”

She nods, frantic.

I slam the door and move on.

Next room. A blonde curled on her side, her earbuds in. She yanks the buds out when the door flies open. It’s Alina.

“Something happened?” she asks.

“Not to you,” Rio says, already scanning corners, wardrobe, under the bed. “Stay in.”

He closes the door before she can form another sentence.

We work down the corridor at speed, smashing through the quiet of each room. Every pet is awake by the third door, even the ones pretending to sleep. Fear has a smell. It spreads fast.

No sign of Lana, Morales, or her assistant.

The girls shrink back against headboards. None of them dares to call out. They know our mood. They feel it.

“We search Morales’ side next,” Rio says.

I nod.

We cut right, toward the harsher part of the basement. The lighting changes slowly. Here, the doors are thicker, reinforced. Some have viewing hatches, some don’t. These are our punishment spaces, the overflow cells, the emergency containment rooms.