The bunker stank of fear-sweat and old stone. Four levels down, where even prayers got lost, David Crenshaw learned what real darkness felt like.
"Solitary," Liam ordered. His voice carried no heat—ice worked better for this kind of justice. "Level four, cell nine. No contact. No light. No sound except his own breathing."
Jimmy and Malik dragged the broken man past the other cells. Past level three where Veronica and her conspirators waited out their life sentences. Past the things in level four that had forgotten they were ever human.
"Please," David wheezed through broken teeth. "Just kill me. Don't leave me down here with—"
"With what?" Elena cut him off. "Your thoughts? Your memories? The sound of Rachel crying while you broke her ribs?"
They'd learned the truth an hour ago. Rache
