Unlocked (No Way Out Series Book 3) Read online

  Unlocked

  No Way Out Series - Book Three

  Shari J. Ryan

  Copyright © 2018 by Shari J. Ryan

  Edition 2

  Formally titled “Abandoned”

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  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Edited by: Barb Shuler, Emily Maynard, Lisa Brown

  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Shari

  1

  Chapter One

  Reese

  I press the tips of my fingers firmly into my palms, feeling a searing pain tear through my arms. My teeth ache from the pressure of my grinding jaw; the hunger in my stomach is so fierce that I might be okay with tearing this man’s face off with my teeth. I close my eyes, seeing a darkness similar to when my eyes are open. There is no hiding from my fears anymore. The darkness is my fear. My only fear. And right now, it surrounds me, making me its prisoner. I press my knees into the cement and push my back up against the wall, sensing the icy rough graze of uneven texture scraping against my skin.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man says, taking one step at a time, closing in on the little space between us. I don’t believe him. All anyone has wanted to do for the past three years is hurt me in some way. “I only want to ask you some questions.”

  What answers would I have? I know nothing other than darkness and isolation. And Sin. I know about Sin, who I have now determined to be a traitor. Where is he? I’m guessing he isn’t locked up. Asshole. “I don’t want to talk,” I tell the man.

  Closer. So close, I can smell his breath—the scent of stale bread rotting on his tongue. “I’d rather do this the easy way, Reese.”

  There is no space for me to move, plus this man is more than a foot taller and built with what looks like three hundred pounds of muscle. There is only one thing I can do at this point and it goes against everything I want to do right now.

  I grit my teeth hard enough to feel the pain wrench through my jaw, hard enough to force the tears I have held in for so long. After repressing my emotions throughout the torment I have endured, the tears come easily once they start. Heaves in my chest accompany the waterworks and it all feels as real as I’m making it appear. “Please, help me,” I cry. I reach out for the man’s hand, finding a thick, leather glove instead. I grip it with all of my strength, pulling it toward me, but not in an aggressive way, in a way that portrays how much help I truly need. I fall to my knees, feeling an internal struggle. “I’m hungry and scared. Please, sir, help me.” My words croak and rasp against the dryness of my throat. The words are believable, the look in my eyes is sincere, but the bitterness in my heart is making me want to snarl like a dog.

  The man looks over his shoulder and back at me. I can hear him swallowing hard, nervous. “Keep it down,” he grunts.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” I whisper through a quiet cry.

  He leans in closer, bringing his biohazard-masked face closer toward my ear. “No, but I need you to keep quiet or it won’t be me you have to worry about.”

  “Who then?” Who do I need to worry about?

  “Who do you think?” He’s speaking to me as if he knows what I know, and I don’t like it. Plus, I don’t know what I’m supposed to know. There is only one name that I could speak of right now, and it’s a name I don’t want confirmation on. “Well?”

  Now I’m swallowing hard. “It’s not Sin,” I respond.

  The man backs away, giving me space and air to breathe. “I’ll get you some food.”

  “Wait!” I shout, a little too loudly.

  He turns around, rushing me as if I were a player on a football field. “I told you to keep quiet.” The strong scent of rubber from his mask burns my nose as it presses against the side of my cheek.

  “Sin,” I say again.

  “You don’t get this, do you?” he grits.

  I close my eyes, knowing I need to stop. It’s the only way. “I’m just hungry,” I mutter through the rough sensation of my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I can hardly swallow my own spit and I’m not sure I understand how I’m surviving this incredible dehydration. I’ve clearly underestimated my body’s capabilities.

  He backs away again, holding his dark, covered stare on my eyes. With the little light the opening of the cell allows in, I can see a touch of despair clouding his eyes. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here either. As he slips through the opening of the cell wall, he pulls the door closed. “Please don’t lock it. The darkness…it’s…please…I can’t deal with any more darkness.”

  The second before the light disappears completely, the whites of his eyes become murky as they disappear behind his lids. “Just be quiet.”

  The door remains open the one measly inch, allowing the slight beam of light to remain. Feeling the deep ache behind my knees with each step, I slowly make my way toward the opening, careful not to make any noise. I reach out for the edge of the wall in the doorframe, bringing myself closer to the opening. A dimly lit, gray hallway appears endless on both sides. The lights down the center create an aura in the middle, leaving darkness on each side. Easier for concealing my dirt-covered body at least. I shimmy out of the opening and struggle between the decision of left or right. Left or right…a choice that may mean the difference between life and death.

  I suck in a heavy breath and flatten myself against the outer wall, making the decision to head right. I want to run, but I know it would create noise. My heart is booming against my chest so hard I wonder if I’m the only one who can hear the beating.

  Step after step, the hallway only continues to unravel into a longer hallway. With no noise in any direction, I wonder if that man was truly getting me food or if this is a setup. Maybe he’s a rat, working against the rest of them.

  The closer I get to nowhere, the scent of fresh bread fills my nose, telling me I’m nearing a kitchen—where the man likely went to fetch me food, if that is what he is doing. I want the food. I want to break into that kitchen and sicken myself with whatever I can get my hands on. But it could be a trap. This could all be a trap.

  I pivot on my heels, forcing myself into the opposite direction, away from the food I so desperately need. This makes no sense. When I was brought to the cell, the halls were white and there were doors. This isn’t the same place.

  I speed up my steps, remaining balanced on my toes to lessen the echo of each step, looking for the cell I came from, but I don’t know where it is. I’ve walked long enough that I should have passed by it by now, except it’s gone. I think it’s gone, but how can that be? I run my hand along the wall, feeling for cracks, inconspicuous openings, a
nything uneven. With my vision hindered by exhaustion, I’m having trouble seeing more than a few feet in front of me, but I feel an end. Maybe it’s due to the echo becoming shallower with each stride.

  The scent, though, it’s back. Fresh bread. I turn around, finding nothing more than the barren hall I’ve been walking down. A straight hall—not one that loops into an endless, teasing circle. That man should have come back by now; he would have found me in this hallway if he wanted to.

  Following my desire to survive, I continue forward in search of a door that may lead to the food, but instead, I find a wall—a flat, even wall, ending the hallway abruptly with no hope. I am nothing more than a rat in their maze.

  I circle around, and around, and around, dizzying myself, trying to shake my brain into comprehension. There has to be a way out since there was obviously a way in. I’m not imagining it, and Sin, he was not a part of my imagination either. “Sin!” I shout as loudly as my lungs will allow. “Sin, I’m in here! Come and get me, you bastard.”

  Walking down the center of the hallway, into the light rather than the darkness this time, I continue to shout. “Come and get me, whoever you are! Here I am, starving to death like you wanted me to. I bet you are all watching me right now, laughing at my pain. Are you aware that I was a normal fifteen-year-old child before you destroyed my life? Was that in your plans, too? Finish me off. Just do it. I don’t want to play your games anymore. I don’t want to believe any more of your lies and I don’t want to be watched by your invisible eyes.” I continue walking down toward the other end, looking for what I’m sure will be another dead end wall with no door or exit. “Oh, wait. I know!” I circle around again, looking in every corner for a camera—a camera that must be hidden pretty well. “I know what you want, you sick assholes.” I lift my arm and bring it in front of my nose. “You know I’m a human, not an animal, right?” I trace the tip of my tongue down the length of my arm, tasting the dirt and salt as it attacks the nerve endings under my tongue, forcing me to clench with pain—a delicious pain. I rest my teeth over the fleshy part of my forearm. “Ready? Maybe after I give you what you want, you’ll bring me to the next stop in this nightmare. Or maybe, you’ll send me directly to hell this time. That—now that sounds like a vacation.” I sink my teeth into my skin, piercing the flesh, slowly and painfully. The copper taste of blood fills my mouth and it does satiate my need for food. It tastes like it always has, like a penny. I peel away a layer of skin and push it to the back of my mouth, squeezing my eyes at the thought of feeding off my own body. The salt, though, it’s what I need. It’s all I can taste now. This is something else—it’s bacon, I can tell myself it’s bacon. I don’t even remember what bacon tastes like, but maybe this is close enough to fool my brain into making me swallow it.

  Bacon. Not my skin. Bacon. Bacon. My tongue relaxes, and what I have convinced myself to be bacon slips down the back of my throat, causing me to gag. No. No. No. I am not this sick. No. I shove my finger down my throat as far as I can reach, forcing myself to vomit up every little piece of nothing. My stomach retches as bile fills my mouth and I lean over to let it fall to the stark-white cement floor. Blood accompanies the bile. I know well enough that my organs have had enough. I am dying. Slowly. “Why won’t you let me die?” I cry out. I should have shot myself when I had the chance. I should have shot Sin when I had the chance.

  I continue forward, clutching my hand around the open wound on my opposite arm. Looking carefully on both sides of the walls for a crack I’m starting to think doesn’t exist, the scent of bread overwhelms me once more. Picking up speed, I find myself at the dead-end wall I assumed was here. “Screw you! All of you!”

  I drop down against the wall, staring out into what becomes a blur of walls. With the next wave of brilliant ideas, I pull in a deep breath and pinch my fingers around my nose. If I’m able to take a bite out of my goddamn arm, I can hold my breath until I die.

  A minute has gone by. A full minute if my seconds were timed out proportionately. Weakness is pulling my head backward as a beautiful numbness weighs my eyelids down. I can only feel my heart racing, screaming at me to stop. But you aren’t winning this one, heart. Mind over matter and my mind will win this one. I can see my heart behind my closed eyes, struggling to pump blood, slowing down, and surrendering to everything fighting against it.

  The heaviness of my head brings me down to meet the cold cement. I think—this is it. Darkness, it’s good now. Just come cover me with a blanket and end this nightmare. The darkness is okay now.

  The darkness—it smells like death. It’s permeating the air around me, sucking me into its endless hole of nothingness, taking me with it. No longer as a prisoner, but as it’s prized possession.

  2

  Chapter Two

  Reese

  A relentless throb pounds inside my head. Is this what Hell has to offer—pain and darkness? Figures. My eyelids are heavy as if a thick fog were dense enough to create a heavy weight. Though, even if the pressure were to release, I’m not sure I’d want to see what surrounds me.

  The smell of fresh bread is still present, though. Why fresh bread? Is part of my torment the ability to smell food, but never come in contact with it?

  A clunking sound of heavy heels echoes in the vicinity and I imagine a man with nice dress shoes walking down a narrow hall, but there is no way in or out. Right? Or at least, there wasn’t a way out before I tried to end my life. I want to know if it worked. I want to know what’s next. I have to know. With the little strength I have, I force my eyes open, blinking against the blinding light shining over me. Heaven? I think not.

  Moving my head from side to side, I find chrome-covered everything—bare and sterile. I bend my chin toward my chest, looking down at my outstretched body, finding straps evenly distributed from my neck down to my ankles. My arm is bandaged up with gauze and I’m in clean clothes—stretchy blue pants; a white-ribbed, cotton t-shirt; and knee-high, black work boots. These clothes are bizarre, but they fit and they are clean. It’s the next best thing to being free and fed. But I remember I’m tied down. This isn’t okay.

  Normally, I would panic after finding myself in this situation, but I don’t feel anything. It’s like a numbness in my mind, telling me there’s nothing to worry about. There is clearly a disconnect somewhere because I’m smart enough to know there are a hundred emotions I should be feeling at this moment. For one, I should be screaming. My heart should be pounding. My stomach should be lurching from hunger. And the constriction should cause fear. Instead, I’d rather close my eyes and remain inside the containment of my cloudy mind.

  “Reese,” a woman says. My eyes open again and I take another look around this room. No one is here, but I notice that even the walls are chrome, too. There are drawers in the shape of boxes lining the walls, each with a handle. I want to know what is in each one of them. “Reese, can you hear me? If you can, please confirm with a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.”

  “Where are you?” I respond.

  “Reese, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” The sound of heels clunking in the hallway starts back up again, almost as if whoever it is, is pacing back and forth. “Reese, do you remember what year it was when you were taken?”

  Three years have passed. It was, “Twenty-twelve.”

  “Do you know what year we are in now?”

  “Twenty-fifteen,” I respond curtly. I don’t want to answer any more questions. I want to be let off of this bed or table, whatever the hell I’m on. I want to be released from this bunker and from this town.

  “It is twenty-seventeen,” the woman corrects me.

  My breaths become sparse, uneven, and heavy. It’s hard to swallow as I struggle to comprehend and understand. That’s impossible! It has been three years. I’m eighteen. I crossed off each day on the floorboard of my shed. She is lying. She is screwing with my head. I don’t believe her. I can’t believe her. “I don’t care what year it is, you need to let me out of here,” I grit.

/>   “Where is out?” she asks. What the hell kind of question is that?

  “Out of Chipley and out of this bunker,” my voice cracks after each word; the hoarseness becoming worse than it was before. I need water. I need food. At the same time, I still want to die.

  “Your mother is deceased. So is your brother.” My head aches. She’s lying. I know she’s lying because I don’t have a brother.

  “Let me go,” I tell her.

  “Her name was Laura, a nurse at Applebrook.” A stinging sensation fills my heart, feelings I didn’t have five minutes ago. Pain sparks through various parts of my body as tears threaten their way out. “Your brother—he was one year old, but I know you never met him.”

  “Why don’t you show your face?” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Better yet, why don’t you do what you obviously want to do and just kill me, you sick bitch? Haven’t you tortured me enough?”

  “I cannot release you until you come to terms with what you need to know,” she says.

  “Who are you?” I grunt, wasting the last of my voice.

  “We need you, Reese. We need your help.”

  “You’re not getting a damn thing from me,” is my final remark. Half of the word comes out in air, and I refuse to give her, whoever she may be, any more of what she wants until I have what I want.

  “Very well,” she responds.