Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
JB clenched his teeth against a rising sense of panic. Time was ticking down. The longer they were on the farm, the higher the chances of getting caught up in real trouble. But if there was a chance of a basement being hidden in this house, he had to search it. If it was hard to get to, it was the perfect place to hide Katie.
“Pantry! Go to the pantry!” Cole suddenly ordered.
“How are there stairs in the pantry?” Rowe asked.
“Trapdoor. It’s the best out-of-the-way location to hide it. No one who walks into the pantry is going to be looking at the floor.”
JB mentally shrugged as he raced through the room, dodging around the counter and to the pantry. He silently jerked open the door and kneeled. He felt around the floor tiles until he located what could be a seam. Shoving aside a ten-pound bag of potatoes, JB chuckled. “Bingo.”
“You found it?” Cole asked.
Very carefully, he hooked his fingers in the latch and pulled the door open. He stayed out of the opening for a moment, holding his breath for gunfire to shoot up at him, but there was only silence. He leaned forward, looking into the blackness that his goggles barely managed to cut through. “Found it,” he whispered.
“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” Rowe said on a weary sigh.
“It’s just a ladder down into pure darkness. I can’t hear anything. I won’t be able to see if I’ve got company until I go.”
“Don’t do it!” Cole practically shouted, and JB smiled a little. Cole’s concern warmed him, but he had to go down there.
“Wait for me,” Owen said. “I’ll back you up.”
“No, you and Zorro keep an eye on the perimeter. I’ll be okay.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t dropped into rat holes and dark caves when he’d been in the military. At least those enemies had been prepared for something like him. JB seriously doubted Dillinger had anyone like him on his payroll.
Smirking to himself, he picked up the bag of potatoes and held it up over the hole for a moment before dropping it. The spuds made a loud thud on the ground, but nothing moved. No gunshots. No shouts. Maybe no one was down there.
JB shouldered the rifle he’d been carrying and switched to the smaller handgun loaded with tranquilizer darts. He’d be able to maneuver with it far faster in the tight space than the rifle. He sucked in a deep breath and descended the ladder as quickly as he possibly could.
With his feet still on the ladder, he swung around, pointing the gun out into the room that wasn’t quite as large as the kitchen. In the green light of the night-vision goggles, he couldn’t clearly make out the jumble of weird furniture he could see. But there was a figure in the corner. A man. He didn’t question it further. Just squeezed the trigger.
The dart buried itself in the man’s chest, but he didn’t move. Didn’t fall. Didn’t even make a sound. What the…?
“Doc? Doc, what’s going on? Doc Holliday, answer!” Cole demanded, his voice growing more frantic with each word. It was enough to finally snap JB out of his confusion.
“Holliday is good,” JB said cautiously. He released the ladder with his other hand and stepped away from the lump of potatoes and into thick carpeting.
“What did you find?” Noah inquired.
“I’m…I’m not sure.” Since he was completely underground, JB took a chance with the lights. He found a switch, pulled off his goggles, and flipped on the light. He squinted against the brightness until his eyes adjusted, and then he wished they hadn’t.
“Fucking A,” he swore softly.
“What’s wrong?” Noah demanded. “Report immediately, Holliday.”
JB knew that tone. His commanding officer was about to hand him his ass if he didn’t pull his shit together. “Sex dungeon, sir.” JB cleared his throat, though it sort of sounded like a groan. “A fucking sex dungeon, but like…seventies style.”
Someone started laughing, but the sound was immediately cut off as if the person clapped their hand over their mouth. He had nothing against kinky sex. He would never kink shame another person, but it was entirely different to find yourself in a person’s secret sex dungeon. There were ropes, whips, and chains of every style. Handcuffs—furry and not furry—and leather manacles. A spanking bench. Crosses, cages, swings. Even a handful of things he didn’t know what the hell the names were.
And a goddamn sex doll standing in the corner. He’d shot a fucking sex doll. Lovely.
To make it all worse, the floor, ceiling, and walls were covered in this bright-orange shag carpeting. Why? Was he trying to conceal the noise? All JB could think about was how hard it was to clean everything out of shag carpeting.
Not that Dillinger was ever cleaning anything out of the carpet in his playroom. That poor fucking maid. He couldn’t imagine anyone being paid well enough to clean Dillinger’s toys.