Locked Out (No Way Out Series Book 2) Read online

  Locked Out

  No Way Out Series - Book Two

  Shari J. Ryan

  Copyright © 2018 by Shari J. Ryan

  Edition 2

  Formally titled “Savior”

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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

  About the Author

  Other Books by Shari

  1

  Chapter One

  Reese

  Snatcher is on his feet, staring me down with a deadly look in his eyes. I only hold my focus on him for a brief moment before looking over at Sin, gauging his reaction to everything Snatcher just said. This was a setup.

  Rage blazes through me, my anger directed more toward Sin than Snatcher right now. That asshole took me for a fool. I search the room, taking in my surroundings during the few short seconds I have to make a move. Without thinking twice about it, I lunge toward the fireplace and grab the iron poker. I swing it around in front of me, unsure who to attack first. I’ve had it. I’ve had it so badly.

  “Whoa,” Sin says, placing his hands up in defense. “Take it easy, Reese.”

  “Let me go. Now,” I seethe.

  “Reese!” Sin jumps toward me and tries to rip the poker out of my hand, but I fight him. I fight him hard, falling to my knees, pulling it toward me. Sin is stronger, though. This isn’t a fight I could ever win, but I refuse to go out without trying. I fall flat to the ground as the poker slips from my grip, burning against my skin along the way.

  “Just do it,” I grunt.

  When nothing happens, I push myself up on my hands and knees, looking up to stare this bad ending in the face. I look up just in time to see Sin spin around and thrash the poker against the side of Snatcher’s head. Snatcher falls immediately, his head slamming into the small, worn table on the way down. Blood trickles from his ear and again, I’m left wondering if he’s dead or alive.

  Looking over at Sin, I clench my teeth together until a pain sears through my jaw. There’s so much I want to say to him right now, but I refuse to give him the benefit of knowing what’s going through my head.

  “That wasn’t true,” he says. “He didn’t tell me to bring you back here.” Whether I believe him or not, it doesn’t matter. I’m getting the hell out of here…with or without him.

  “Whatever.”

  He reaches his hand out to me, thinking I’m actually going to take it. “I’m not the bad guy here,” he adds in.

  Except that’s not what you have been telling me from the moment I met you.

  “Did you kill your mother or not?” I ask him. “Don’t brush me off this time. If you don’t answer me, I’m leaving and I’ll find my own way out of this shithole without you.”

  “You’re starting to talk like me. I’m rubbing off on you,” he grins. I suck in a deep inhale and grit my teeth. I’m not backing down again. “Can we at least discuss this after we get out of here?” Walking over to Snatcher, he squats down by his head and places his fingers over the artery on his neck as he looks up at me with a blank look.

  “Well?” It is his father. And I hope he’s dead. From what Sin has told me, he’d be okay with that outcome too; although, I’m not sure what to believe right now.

  “I didn’t kill her,” he says, looking back down at Snatcher. “And he isn’t dead yet.” Sin stands up quickly and takes me by the arm, pulling me down the short, dark hall.

  The rest of the house looks the same as the living room and kitchen—yellowed, and worn. The scent of stale cigarette smoke is more pungent in the enclosed hallway and it’s making my stomach churn.

  Sin pulls me into one of the two bedrooms and makes his way over to the dresser. He tears out every drawer, dumping them all over. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he shoves small items into his pockets. I can’t tell what they are. I move a little closer toward him, curious to see what else he’s going to take. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m watching as he pulls out a few envelopes and shoves them in his back pocket. Moving over to the mattress, he flips it onto its side and looks underneath. “Nothing,” he says.

  “What are you looking for?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer me, just continues ripping things apart, instead. Next, he dumps the nightstand drawer out onto the floor and then kicks it. He rushes past me, grabbing me by the wrist again, pulling me back out into the hall and into the next room.

  This room is painted in blue, unlike the rest of the house. It has grey curtains, posters hanging on the wall, and a floor to ceiling bookshelf filled with books. “Was this your—”

  “Yes. Home, sweet fucking home.”

  “You’re a reader?” I move over to the bookshelf and examine the titles, intrigued by this unknown fact about Sin, momentarily forgetting about our current situation. Most of them are classics—even more unexpected. “I never would have assumed.”

  “You know what assuming does?” he asks, with an angry lilt to his voice.

  “Screw you,” I respond.

  “You wish.” How did we get to this point? How did I let things get to this point? That is what I should be asking myself.

  He nudges me out of the way and takes a book, “The Aeneid”, from the top shelf and opens it.

  “Robert Fitzgerald, huh?” I ask. “I’ve read a couple of his books.”

  “Good for you,” he says, looking at it for a moment before tearing the first page out. He folds it up and drops it into his pocket among the other things he has shoved in there. As he replaces the book on the shelf, he turns around to look at me. The veins in his eyes are red and sweat is beading up on his forehead. “We need weapons.” I thought there were no weapons in this godforsaken place. “Let’s go.” He walks out into the hallway, quickly moving ahead of me. “Hurry up.”

  By the time we reach the living room, soft groans warn me that Snatcher is starting to come to. And from the looks of it, Sin is well aware of this as he grabs the fire poker. For a moment, it looks like Sin might go back after Snatcher with it, but instead, he takes a deep breath and moves into the kitchen.

  I stick close to Sin, watching as he grabs the knives from the butcher block, then tears open all of the drawers until he retrieves two guns and a flashlight. “Back downstairs. Go. Now,” he says.

  I don’t question him, as I never wanted to come up here in the first place, and I nearly trip running down the stairs into an area I feel only slightly safer in. I get the whole “Snatcher doesn’t come down here” thing, but really, it doesn’t seem like much would stop that man from doing whatever the hell he wants to do. He’s obviously deranged…like the rest of the people in this town.

  The door slams upstairs and Sin’s heavy feet trudge down the stairs. He throws a backpack at me and slips another one over his shoulders. “Grab some clothes from the cl
oset and take your damn doll.”

  “Quit being an asshole,” I snap. I’ve held my anger at bay for the past twenty minutes, but it’s foaming in my mouth at this point.

  “Gotta live up to my name,” he says, throwing the doll at me.

  “If you didn’t kill her, why the hell were you locked up? I’d have to expect there’s a bigger reason than you just being rude to everyone.”

  “Do you hate me yet?” he asks, in response. What kind of question is that?

  “I certainly don’t like you right now,” I say, pulling the bag over my shoulders. He tosses a gun to me and I struggle to catch it, but manage to grasp it by the bottom of the barrel.

  “Used one before?”

  “Yeah, in my short fifteen years, when I was free and living in the middle of the country where people left their front doors unlocked at night, my mother made sure to teach me how to murder someone,” I grit with scorn.

  “Jesus, you’re hopeless.”

  I walk over to Sin and stare up at him and the scowl stretched across his face. I slap my hand against his cheek as hard as I can, instantly feeling an itchy burn across my hand. “Asshole.”

  He grabs his jaw and grins, cocking his head from side to side. “Well, there she is.” His hand loops around my back and he pulls me in closer.

  “I have a gun in my right hand,” I remind him.

  “Oh. I thought you were just happy to see me.” With that, he leans down and crushes his lips into mine. No. This has to stop. Although, as much as I fight against it, I can’t ignore the fact that he takes my breath away. He makes my knees weak, and he makes me want more of his crude-laced tongue. Damn him.

  When he pulls away, he traces his thumb down the side of my cheek. “I like you, Reese.” He follows his unusually kind words with another quick kiss. “And that wasn’t my gun you felt. I am happy to see you.”

  I wish I didn’t have electrifying zaps shooting through my core right now. I hate what he does to me. I hate that I have no control over my feelings. I hate that I can’t be angry at him when all I want to do is slap him again. Yet, now I know what inflicting harm will evidently lead to. “I still don’t like you,” I lie.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  “It’s the middle of the night,” I remember, as we walk up the steps toward the basement’s hatch door. “Do you have a plan?”

  “My first plan is to teach you how to shoot that weapon you’re holding.”

  “At night?”

  “By the time we get to where we’re going, it’ll be sunrise.” The thought of walking more than we’ve already walked today sort of sickens me. My legs are aching and my feet have blisters from these boots. “Oh, before we leave, do you still have that key I gave you?”

  The key. The one he gave me as a birthday gift on the first day I met him. “I do.”

  “Where is it?” he asks.

  “I thought it was mine.” It’s the only thing anyone has given me in three years besides stale or moldy food.

  “It is, but it may be of use to us in getting out of here. It’s important that you hold onto it.”

  “Is there a door that’s going to lead us out of hell?” I have a feeling that’s not the case; that there is no true way out of here. If there were, people would have found it by now…or at least, I have to think that.

  “I don’t know if there is a door, but I know there is a way out.”

  He opens the basement hatch to the dark night sky and the distant sound of—I don’t know what the sound is, actually. “What is that noise?”

  He locks up the basement door and turns in the direction my shed was in. “You don’t want to know.”

  “No way. Don’t pull that bull on me. What is it?” The sound stops. It was almost like the combination of someone crying, mixed with radio static.

  “I can just show you if you’d like?” Sin says, continuing on ahead of me.

  This time, I don’t respond. I have a feeling whether I want to see it or not, I won’t have a choice. He gets some sick thrill out of trying to scare the shit out of me, and I’m done letting him think it’s working. Whatever it is making that noise will not scare me. I won’t allow it to.

  We walk past the flattened shed and I stop. I lean down to move some of the smaller broken boards, but now I feel compelled to move more in search of the mattress I slept on for so long. “What are you doing?” Sin asks.

  “I need to find it.” I’m slinging bigger planks of wood now, getting closer to the bottom of the pile. Surprisingly, Sin doesn’t ask any more questions and helps me instead. He breaks through the pile faster, revealing the top of the mattress. I step over the pile he’s created and shove the mattress to the side a few inches, finding exactly what I was looking for.

  I drop to my knees and sweep my hand over the gravel covering the untouched piece of floor. “May I borrow your flashlight?” I ask.

  He hands it over and kneels down beside me. “What is it?”

  I click the flashlight on, shining the light on the spot that tracked how many days I survived. “Eleven-hundred-fifteen.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Days.” I take a rock from the rubble and scrape it alongside the last line, needing to add in four more. Four days seems like an eternity ago, yet it has only been four days and I’m no closer to escaping than I was eleven-hundred-and-nineteen days ago. Sin’s hand gently presses against my back as I create the last line. When I drop the rock, he pulls me into his side and places a kiss on the top of my head. No words are needed at this moment. He gets it. I know he does.

  I turn the flashlight off and hand it back to him. “I don’t want to waste the battery.” Standing up, I step back over the piles of lumber, looking to Sin for the next direction, which I’m assuming is the empty horizon in front of us.

  Sin takes my hand and we continue in silence until I hear the sound of cries again. “Is it a person or an animal? Just tell me that much.”

  “The difference between the two is hard to decipher here, Reese. One is as dumb as another, but we’re all trying to escape. And when we try to escape, the consequence causes the sounds you are hearing.”

  2

  Chapter Two

  Sin

  FIVE DAYS AGO

  I take a seat at the kitchen table and clasp my hands together, staring at the back of her head as she puts the roast together. I haven’t eaten in hours and I’d happily eat that thing raw at this point. “Dad called again.”

  Mom drops everything and cleans her hands off on the dishrag, but doesn’t turn around. Her shoulders slouch forward before they straighten back out. I hear a heavy breath expel from her lungs as she turns around. “How do you suppose he found us?”

  I look into her sad, hazel eyes as she traces her fingertip down the length of her scar that reaches from her eyebrow to her lip. “He won’t be able to get in here,” I tell her.

  “I wouldn’t put much past him, darling.” I wouldn’t either.

  “I won’t let him hurt you again,” I assure her. “I would—”

  “Don’t say it, Sinon. I know what you’re capable of. I don’t want you to be like him. You understand that, right?”

  “Of course, Mom, but I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep you safe.”

  She sits down in the chair across from me and takes my hands in hers. Her lips press together and a tear falls from her eye. “I love you very much.”

  “I don’t like it here,” I tell her. It has been six months and I haven’t figured out how to adjust to this environment. I’m not sure anyone could adjust to this place. I didn’t question Mom when she made the decision. Her life has always been devoted to research on the human mind. She isn’t afraid of the prisoners like most people would be. She’s like a psyche whisperer, or so she calls herself.

  She has spent most of her adult life hopping from prison to prison to assist with counseling as well as research. When she was given this opportunity in Chipley, she saw it not only as a golden opportu
nity, but also a chance to escape our life with Dad.

  “It’ll take a while to get used to,” she says, as if she’s already used to this completely inhuman compound. I’m here because of her. I’m seventeen—not old enough to be on my own, plus she needs me.

  “Can we leave if we need to? Is there a way out?” I’ve asked her this many times, but she won’t answer me. She tells me she was sworn into this society as a caretaker and has committed to keeping certain information classified. I’m not exactly sure who I would tell even if I had the opportunity to do so, but Mom takes her work very seriously.

  “There is, yes,” she responds curtly. A helicopter dropped us in. I was given a sedative and fell asleep in an office, then woke up here. They told me it was for my own safety.

  “But you won’t tell me where or how to leave,” I confirm.

  “Do you want to leave, Sinon?” I look at her for a long minute, debating my answer.

  “Yes, but I’ll stay with you,” because I wouldn’t have anywhere else to go if I left. She knows this. Her question is invalid and I know it as well as she does. Dad lost the custody battle after his last episode and I can’t imagine one relative who would take me in, even if it were only until I turn eighteen.

  “It’s only for a year more,” she reminds me. “Then you and I will go live up north, and we’ll start over.” She smiles at the thought. She’s always talked about moving to Boston since there are so many great job opportunities for her profession there. I’d be happy to live in a city and have a different kind of life than what I’ve always known.

  “One year,” I say, leaning over and placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’m going to get back to work.”

  “Dinner will be ready in two hours. I have a night shift tonight, so we need to eat earlier,” she says. Her night shifts involve delivering food drops to the Level One prisoners confined to the hospital at the top of the hill. That building gives me the creeps. “Oh, and don’t forget about your school assignments. You have a few more to complete by the end of the week.” Home-schooled, compound-schooled; same thing. I miss my high school. My friends. Wrestling. The longer I’m here, the more hostile I feel toward Mom for pulling me away from a life I enjoyed.