"Y-you k-kill him," Joey said.

"Me? No, we all understood what would happen if we were ever exposed. The greater good comes first. Peter agreed to our terms. He also knew we'd avenge him," Levi said.

"Levi, no," Evonne said.

"Oh don't worry, sweetness. I've come to be fond of you. I won't hurt you. I'll train you," Levi said. He sank onto the couch beside Evonne and stroked her face. "You gave yourself to me so sweetly. So completely. I won't forget that, lover."

Tears rolled down Evonne's face.

"But you," he said, pointing at Joey. "You are a killing blow to Juliette and the biker scum who think they run this city. Let me tell you, darling, they are in for a huge awakening. We make the rules now. By the time we're done with them, they'll be nothing. As we speak, a shit storm is coming down on them so hard, I wonder when they'll realize you're missing."

She wanted to lash out at him, but she couldn't move her legs to kick or make her mouth work to spit. She swayed, landing beside Evonne on the couch.

"That's it, go to sleep for me, girls."

Despite her best efforts to resist, she found herself doing exactly as he requested as she slipped into unconsciousness.

The first thing Joey registered when she came to was coldness and pain. Her head throbbed, and her skin felt like it had a layer of ice covering it. She moaned and forced her eyes open slowly. The light that came in through a small window made her cringe. Where am I? She moistened her lips and swallowed, breathing in fresh air. A musky dampness lay around her and reminded her of a cellar.

Her head finally stopped spinning and she opened her eyes once more. The pain in her eyes was manageable, so she took in her surroundings. She lay in the middle of the floor of a bare, gray room that made her think of prison or a mental asylum. Please let me wake up. Her stomach turned and she closed her eyes while swallowing. Bile rocketed up her throat. She turned her head and revisited her dinner. Her eyes watered, and she pushed herself into a sitting position, moving back from the foul-smelling puddle.

The door probably locked from the outside. It had a long, thin window. Jesus, maybe I am in an asylum. She took a deep breath and moved onto all fours. The world tilted slightly. Once she stabilized, she gained her feet, bracing her palms against her thighs as she wobbled slightly. Her teeth chattered and she wrapped her arms around her waist. Dressed for a night in, she wore a only pair of skinny jeans and a button-down white shirt.

Careful steps took her to the door. She pressed her ear to the smooth metal surface and listened. Nothing but silence greeted her. Curious, she peered out the window and spotted a hallway with corresponding doors just like hers. Where's Evonne? She wanted to call out for her but feared alerting Levi. Neglected and aged, the faded white walls were covered in grime and graffiti. Familiar with the history of her town, she guessed this was the old Northway Asylum. The rundown hospital had been closed when the truth about the horrible treatment and hidden deaths was revealed. Many people thought the souls of those neglected patients still wandered the hallways at night. A chill went up her spine.

On the outskirts of town, it had been the place kids dared each other to go in high school. But why am I here? Wait-their plans had gone wrong. She could vaguely recall her kidnapper yelling at someone. Did he dump me here to get me out of the way, or was this part of the scheme? Mental images of sterilized instruments from every horror movie she'd ever witnessed swam to the forefront of her mind. Oh my God, what is he doing to Evonne right now? Her heart raced. He'd sounded obsessed with her at the house. Surely he wouldn't hurt her.

I have to stay calm so I can find her. No one knows what happened to us. I have to keep it together, or I'll be another ghost wandering around this place. Think, what would the Doctor do? He'd have a sonic screwdriver for one. Rambling to herself helped to keep her from panicking.

Joey wrapped her hand around the door and turned the metal knob. Locked. Terror set in as she jiggled the handle. Looking around the room, she saw nothing more than a rotted mattress, decayed down to the rusty bedsprings. It was like an episode of a cop show. Only she was the victim and there were no leads. As far as everyone else knew, she'd just vanished from her home. She peered at the center pane in the door. This place was made in the 'eighties. It might still be regular glass.

Eager to escape the small cell, she removed her shirt, ignoring the numbing cold as she wrapped her elbow. On three... One, two, three! She drove her wrapped limb forward with all her might and cried out when it hit the pane of glass. The crack encouraged her and she remained a human battering ram until the glass gave way. Her chest heaved, and adrenaline surged thorough her body.

Terrified her kidnapper was close by, she shook out her shirt, wrapped it around her hand and cleared the square of jagged edges. Desperate to gain the extra five inches necessary to stick her arm out and reach the doorknob she jogged toward the bed and prayed it would hold her. The metal scraped along the floor. The high-pitched tone stabbed at her eardrums.

She pushed the rickety contraption flush against the door, made the sign of the cross over her chest and climbed on, sticking her arm through the window. The frail frame collapsed after a few seconds, but the top lock had already given. The sharp edges of the bed dug into her pants, and she struggled to free herself, feeling as if she had fallen into marshmallows littered with rusty razor blades.

Free of the tiny nicking menaces, he stumbled over the edge of the bedframe and brushed her hands over the legs of her pants, trying hard not to think of what residue clung to the mattress. She waved her shirt once last time in the air and slipped it on over her head. Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved the bed once more and opened the door.

A sense of foreboding washed over her. This place had seen so much misery and pain. Sorrow and despair clung to the walls. She padded across the floor in bare feet, scanning her surroundings. Half expecting someone to pop out at any moment, she hugged the wall on the far right. Her nerves frayed a bit more with every foot of space she covered. Hallways intersected like a crazy highway and she had no clue which would lead her where.

On instinct, she turned left, and prayed for the best. Anything was better than remaining in the cell, knowing if the others didn't figure this out she would starve to death. Even if she could find her way out, there was no one around on this land for miles. At least inside, she had some shelter from the elements.

"You ready for tonight?" Shooter asked.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Moose replied as he leaned back in his chair. The Lords of Mayhem were all gathered in the club waiting to head out to collect information from a source who claimed to have inside information about Room 801. Neither nave nor stupid, they assumed the informant was a plant, bait to get Mayhem to walk blindly into a trap. For that reason they were traveling by the shit ton, with the Eights in the wings ready to ride in and provide backup. They'd agreed to an abandoned warehouse a half-hour away in the middle of nowhere between this town and the next.

Shooter shrugged. "I don't like any of this. It feels bad. Even knowing the Eights have our backs, I want to call the whole thing off." He said.

"Any particular reason or just your sixth sense?" Moose asked. He'd learned to listen to his Shooter's gut. It hadn't led them astray yet.

"Other than the informant's shady-ass behavior...it's a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, man." Shooter shook his head. "This is going to go sideways on us fast."

Moose frowned. "What did Tiny say?"

"Better to get the drop on them and squash it now than be caught by surprise and ambushed," Shooter said.

"He has us all wearing vests at least," Moose said. He patted the Kevlar beneath his long-sleeved black thermal shirt.

"I know, but I like to avoid gunfire when possible. You never know what someone else is packing or where their men are positioned," Shooter said, looking around.

Moose could see the ghosts of the past flickering in his friend's eyes.

An ex-sniper for the Marines once captured in the line of duty, Shooter had battled his demons for years before he managed to get a firm grasp on them.

"You good for this?" Moose asked.

"I'm solid, just-apprehensive as fuck," Shooter said.

Moose laughed. "Apprehensive?"

"Hey, my fiancee is a librarian. Shit rubs off." Shooter chuckled.

The tension was cut in two, but the underlying unease remained. Moose surveyed the area. They were like sardines with the Eights packed in beside them.

"You hear that?" Shooter asked, tensing beside him.

"Hear what?" Moose asked.

"Shut the fuck up," Shooter roared.

The talking in the room stopped. They heard a whistle-like sound followed by pops.

"Get down!" Tiny barked. Bodies hit the floor. Windows exploded. Gunfire rang out. Casings clanked on the concrete outside as they hit the ground. The roar of an engine and the crash and rattle of the front gate were followed by a sickening thud Moose knew was the prospect they'd posted up front.

Moose scrambled toward where he thought the spray was coming from. Crawling along the filthy wooden floor, he hissed when a bullet caught his vest. The ping of bullets hitting the hard surface and ricocheting fell into the background. The thwack of a bullet hitting flesh was followed by a cry of pain. Was that one of ours? A flurry of motion exploded as people scrambled around. Tiny grabbed a shotgun from behind the bar and blew out the window. They returned fire. Tires squealed and the shooting came to an abrupt halt.

"Catch those motherfuckers! Don't let them get away. Someone go over there and put a tourniquet on him before he bleeds out," Tiny barked.

Moose squinted and stood. Clarity returned, and his heart sank. Maverick had been hit. A pool of blood had begun to form beneath him. The front door burst open and bikers flooded out the door.

One of the Eights knelt beside Maverick with a bandana, intent on stopping the blood flowing from somewhere in his leg. Moose still felt dazed. He saw a few others shuffling to the window like zombies. Moose's eyes landed on Tiny.

Tiny's eyes flashed with anger and his face was mottled red. A vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead and other smaller ones stood out on his neck. The holes in his shirt and jacket were a very real reminder of the almost-massacre.

"We got one of the bastards," Wanderer said. Two of his men dragged in a bloodied, bruised man with a lanky frame. His head hung down, obscuring his face from view.

Moose turned.

Wanderer shoved the man onto the floor. A tight circle formed around the prisoner.

"He helped spill your man's blood. I'm going to let you do what you need to make this right," Wanderer said. "But I suggest you do it fast because we don't know if more are coming. We'll stay here and beef up your numbers."

Tiny nodded. "You came after my family, so we both know you have to die. If you tell me what I want to know, I'll make it fast." Tiny gripped the man's hair and pulled his head back. "Me, personally? I hope you don't talk." Tiny bared his teeth. "Then I can teach you firsthand why you don't fuck with Mayhem."

The blood drained from the man's face and his eyes darted back and forth.

"You have a short time frame, 'cause I'm not a patient man. I'll give you a minute to decide starting..." Tiny looked down at his watch. "Now."

The silence in the room became deafening.

Moose met Shooter's gaze from across the room. A silent exchange occurred between them. They were both okay.

"Time's up." Tiny grinned. "Boys, go bring in the kit."

"No," the man whispered.

"You expecting backup?" Tiny asked.

The man remained silent. Tiny delivered a well-aimed kick to the back of his knee. The prisoner screamed.

"Let me repeat the question. Are you expecting backup?" Tiny asked.

"N-no."

"Who do you work for?" Tiny asked.

"It was nothing personal, just a job," the man said.

"A job?" Tiny asked.

"We were hired to take out the people here."

"I don't think I believe you. Wanderer, how about you take a turn?" Tiny said.

"With pleasure." Wanderer popped his knuckles, and delivered a punishing blow to the man's jaw. The beating continued relentlessly. The man slumped forward.

"Get him up, Snubs," Wanderer said.

Snubs held him up by his hair.

"You ready to talk now?" Tiny asked.

"L-Levi, Levi." The man moaned.

"The fuck did he just say?" Shooter said.

"You know him?" Wanderer asked.

"Isn't that the name of the guy Evonne is dating? I find it hard to believe that's a coincidence."

"Fuck, Joey had dinner with him tonight. Well, him and Evonne," Moose said.

"Call her," Wanderer said.

"Everyone get on the phone with your family and your significant others, make sure they're okay. Tell them to initiate lockdown protocol," Tiny said.

The thought of Joey being hurt made Moose sick to his stomach. Moose gave a curt nod and stepped away, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket. He didn't even have a home for her to bunk down in. The conversation with her father haunted him. I'll take care of, I'll protect. Well, I'm doing a shit job right now. The phone rang and went to voicemail. Dread bottomed out his stomach. He hung up and dialed again. The sound of the recorded message made him want to gag. "I think we have a problem." Moose swallowed heavily.

"What's up?" Tiny turned to look at him.

"Joey isn't answering," Moose said.

"Try her friends first, then give her one more call before we panic," Wanderer said.

Moose nodded and began to dial the girls up one by one. When Hil and Juliette ended up accounted for, his stomach dropped to his knees.

"Evonne and Joey aren't answering," Moose said.

"Son of a bitch," Wanderer barked.

"Fuck." Moose ran a hand through his hair.

"Is there anywhere else she could be?" Tiny asked.

"This late at night?" Moose shook his head no.

"I want everything we can find on this Levi character. Specs, start running a trace on their cellphones, so we can figure out where they are."

Images of the horrors Joey could be suffering played in Moose's head like a twisted snuff film. If their goal was to hurt, there'd be no bargaining, pleading or mercy. Suddenly, he felt like that helpless son years before. Unable to do anything more than wait and hope for the best. The position distorted his mental state of mind.

Chapter Thirteen.

An hour later Moose sat in the small office while Specs and Gadget attempted to locate the slippery fucker known as Levi Hampton. The girls had given them all the information they had. No one had his phone number, and other than his last name, there was next to nothing to go on.

"They can't have disappeared without a trace, right?" Hilary asked. Her mouth trembled, and her eyes grew glassy.