August barely heard the roaring wind over his pounding heart. Icy wind stung his eyes as he crossed the straggly lawn of the Black Viper's hideout. Text messages from Sierra popped up while he fed Wolf Wolf back at him and his grandmother's house, with instructions for a new drug dealing.

Despite how August didn't trust them, he knew it would only raise suspicions if he didn't answer. Plus, he needed the money from their drug run. August hoped that they hadn't found Casey and his family yet. It was only a matter of time, but maybe, they'd be lucky enough to get away from them.

August's own escape plan failed miserably, but he'd do everything he could to keep Casey and his family safe.

Paranoia held August in its deadly grasp as his mind conjured the worst scenarios. The drive to their gang's hideout had him on edge. All he could think about was if Casey and his family were safe. Part of him wished he'd gone with them, but August knew damn well they would've been found immediately had he stayed with them.

It only just occurred to him that they might force him to hurt Casey or torment him to find out the Lockhart family's location. Those possibilities made him reconsider everything. Maybe he should pretend he got caught up with something else.

When he parked across the street of their hideout, August hesitated. He killed the ignition, yet his legs refused to move. Something deep within his soul screamed at him to drive away. August knew if they suspected he'd turned on them, they'd kill his grandmother and their dogs.

They'd probably already spotted his vehicle. Turning back around would be too suspicious. He had no other choice. It was like he could hide from them. They always knew how to find him, and Veronica wasn't around to save his ass anymore.

August inhaled a sharp breath of air, then he took the plunge and headed straight for their entryway. As he crossed the street, August reached into his coat's pocket, gripping his switchblade tightly. Just in case things took a turn for the worst.

Nobody greeted him at their entrance, like they normally did. It raised all kinds of red flags, yet August kept his head held high and switchblade close as he crept inside. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, following down a trail of dead cockroaches that lined the floor.

Where was everyone?

As August entered their lounging room, only tattered chairs greeted him. A musty stench made him wrinkle his nose as he scoured the room. Old paper plates scattered across the coffee table, yet nothing seemed like it'd been eaten recently. No signs of life could be found. August checked his phone again, sending Sierra another text.

"Anyone here?" August called out.

Keeping his back close to the wall, he stepped further into their hideout and made his way into the small kitchen. Pizza boxes were strewn across the counter and dishes piled up in the sink. When he reached their fridge, he almost slipped in puddles of blood spattered across the floor.

"Shit."

August needed to get the hell out of there. Just as he prepared to turn around, the basement door creaked open. Swallowing the lump in his throat, August confronted the man, clad in an old white butcher's apron decorated in blood stains. He donned a black mask, concealing all of his face, but August still recognized him.

"H-Hey, man." August's voice wavered as he took a cautious step backward. "Have you seen Sierra? She wanted to tell me something about a new client."

"Yeah, he's just right in here." Butch leered, gesturing down into the basement.

"Oh, well, um just tell Sierra I'll stop by later. Seems you're busy there." August clenched the switchblade tightly in his pocket, yet he knew the weapon wouldn't hold up against the larger man.

Before August had the chance to flee or cause a distraction, another figure came up behind him. Just as he turned his head in the source of the approaching footsteps, Butch retrieved a taser from his handsnitched apron pocket. One shot was all it took to take August down, writhing in pain from the electrodes that pierced through him.

Stars danced in his vision as he choked on his own saliva. They were already trying to kill him. Had they found out about him helping the Lockhart family?

Within seconds, Sierra bound his arms and legs together with duct tape so he couldn't run. The pain ebbed to a tolerable amount, just enough for August to regulate his breathing and speak again, even while down on the floor.

"What the fuck... are you doing?" August rasped.

"Sorry about this. I really am. But you should've known better than to stab us in the back," Butch said as he pulled out his butcher cleaver, still freshly coated in someone else's blood. "You got too close to Casey. That never should've happened."

"Why are you targeting Casey?" August asked, choking on his words a moment. "I don't understand. I thought- I thought you guys liked him."

Sierra rolled her eyes. "We tolerated him for Veronica's sake. Now that she's gone, it's time someone else takes her place around here. She fucked us over, you know? She'd been working as Detective Lockhart's informant."

August frowned. "What? No way. Veronica never told me nothing about that."

"Why would she tell you anything?" Butch sneered. "You've been too busy fucking her baby daddy."

"That's not-"

"Look, this isn't personal. I couldn't care less about what you stick your dick in." Butch directed his cleaver down toward August's extremities, almost touching the blade to the fabric of his jeans, as he flinched. "But you're an obstacle that needs to go."

Butch hefted August to his feet with ease as he swayed against the duct tape bounding his ankles together. As he came face to face with the other man, August spit in his face. That earned him a harsh smack in the face. Butch reached into August's pockets, yanking out the switchblade and his wallet, chucking them across the kitchen floor.

The buff man dragged him across the blood-streaked floor and pried the basement door open. A nauseating miasma greeted him as he tossed August into the room like nothing but a ragdoll. The tumble down those few steps hurt every fiber of his body before reaching the bottom. The door slammed, closing him in with the stench of death.

Darkness shrouded August's vision. Pain pulsed in the back of his head as he tried to reorient his focus on his new surroundings. Planting both hands against the concrete pavement, he felt around amid the darkness for anything recognizable.

As he blindly felt around in the pitch black, his fingers brushed over pallid skin. August resisted the urge to scream as he yanked his hand away. Curiosity urged him to carefully reach out again, this time touching the fabric of some dead body's clothing. It was enough to make August recoil and scoot as far back as he could.

Without light, August couldn't even determine the gender of the dead person locked in the basement with him. Soon enough, August's own corpse would rot alongside it.

Tears gathered in his eyes, and not only from the stench. He realized he was going to die down there all alone. Closing him in the dark was just a fear tactic and tortuous method of making him feel like he might live. He'd worked with the Black Vipers long enough to know how they operated.

"Dammit." August pounded a futile fist against the pavement.

Determination to live led him to chewing his way through the duct tape that bound his wrists together. It was a tedious process, but soon enough, he got the tape loose enough against his skin to pry it apart. After freeing his wrists, he went to work on ankles next, grateful that Sierra didn't wrap it tight enough against his skin.

Yet, even after freeing himself, he was still stuck. No amount of screaming for help or banging on the door would help him. Without any other exits in the compact room, August had no way of escaping.

The solitude would drive him to insanity eventually. August tried to strategize a way out of there, but he'd witnessed them abandon prisoners for hours down there. Sometimes they'd watch movies, play video games, or cook supper and pretend like nobody waited in the dingy, deathly-smelling room.

Freaking the fuck out was what he really wanted to do. A dead body laid near him. Butchered in ways August couldn't even stomach to think about. It made him consider how they'd do that to him, and then, Casey's family.

If only he could warn him... If only he'd been stronger and smarter.

August cursed himself for falling right into their trap. Never in a million years did he think Sierra would be involved in something so heinous. August had gotten too comfortable around the gang members, forgetting that foremost, their concerns were for themselves. They'd kill anyone as long as it kept them alive.

🧁

The hinges on the door squeaked in protest as it opened. Bright light shined down on August's face as he shielded his eyes, trying to get a glimpse of the individual who opened it.

Sierra's body came into view as she took careful steps down the hallway, gripping the taser in a trembling hand. As she neared him, August prepared to lunge toward her and knock the taser from her grip.

"I'm sorry," Sierra's voice cracked. "I never thought it would end like this."

"How the hell did you expect it to end?" August snapped.

"I don't know. Not like... this." Sierra frantically waved the taser as she spoke. "Like, I never expected them to target the rest of the family. I thought we'd off the mom and be done. Nobody ever mentioned getting rid of the kid."

August froze. "What the fuck are you gonna do to Wyatt?"

"I dunno." Sierra bit her lip.

"You better leave that boy alone," August warned her.

"I don't have any say in this!" she shrieked.

"If something happens to Wyatt, I'll kill you myself."

Sierra stumbled on the stair, staring at him with a fearful expression in her hazy eyes. "I-I can't do nothing."

"If you let them hurt Wyatt, I'll make sure to shoot you in the face first," August told her.

Just as August reached up toward her, Sierra aimed the taser and sent the electrodes through his body again. The impact sent August backward, down the few steps, and onto the hard concrete ground below. Excruciating pain pulsed through the back of his head as he gazed into the unadulterated darkness, pleading with any God bearing witness to keep him alive.

Every inch of him ached. August wanted to stand up and fight, but his body wouldn't cooperate. When he tried to move his arm, he could only twitch his index finger as numbing pain coursed through him.

Footsteps neared him. August remained still, taking small breaths to keep her from noticing his chest rising. When a small hand touched his neck, he held his breath in. His lungs burned for air, but he wanted her to believe he'd died. Sierra wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and if he could convince her that he was dead, it might get him out of that basement.

"Oh shit." Sierra cursed.

August wanted to follow her. His mind screamed at him to get the hell up and run. Yet, his body refused to move a muscle. He needed time to recuperate and regain some strength. With her thinking he'd died, it gave him some time to heal.

Minutes passed by like hours before August gradually pulled himself up. Gingerly, he touched the back of his pounding head, feeling something wet clumped in his hair. Blood. August imagined the hit on the head had to cause some damage, yet nothing felt like it caused permanent nerve damage. Not like he was a doctor who could diagnose that. It just hurt like a fucking bitch.

August couldn't play dead forever. They'd return soon.

Although he hated the sudden idea that popped into his head, he had no choice. He was desperate. August crawled around on the floor until he stumbled upon the dead body he'd found earlier. He groped the poor corpse, hoping to find some kind of weapon on them that he could use.

First, he tried the jean pockets. A pack of gum, his wallet, and a set of keys. Without light, he couldn't even see the ID on the person. Next, he tried the coat pockets. A wet substance grazed his hand while he searched, which August assumed had to be from stab wounds or gunshot wounds.

A pocket knife.

August grinned, unsheathing the blade to feel the ridges. It wasn't as sharp as he'd like, but he could make do with it. Since they had his own blade, it was better than nothing.

While searching the corpse for more weapons, his hands trailed down the denim leg before realizing all he felt was the fabric. No muscle. Butch must've severed their leg. August never could witness the ruthless man's murders without needing to puke. He chopped people up with ease, and August had no doubts he'd savored cutting that poor bastard to pieces.

Nausea churned in his stomach as August moved away from the body, clutching desperately to his new weapon. He wouldn't let himself end up like that person. He'd outsmart those assholes and save Casey's family.

Now, all he had to do was wait. August got back in position, close enough near the stairs, where he'd fallen. August laid down on the ground, wishing the throbbing in his head would go away. The pounding of his own heart in his chest gave him a headache, but he didn't have time to worry about it.

He needed to focus on his escape. Then, he needed to help protect Casey and his family. If they'd already gotten to him, there was no telling how close they could be to finding them in Crittendale County.

August could only hope and pray they were safe.