Reunion  :The Coming Home series Book 3

By: Meli Raine

The Coming Home series Book 3




You can think you’ve had everything stolen from you. That there’s nothing left to lose.

You would be wrong.

My best friend’s been kidnapped. I was just captured. What I thought was a massive drug operation run by a man who killed my father turns out to be ten times more horrific.

I’m trapped. My best friend may be dead.

And Mark has no idea where to find me.

Some secrets should remain buried, my captors tell me.

And it looks like I will be, too.

Buried alive.






Reunion  





Chapter One


As Amy faints, she falls on my arm. I drop my phone. Amy’s shoulder bangs into it as she hits the floor. A sickening crack fills my ears.

The flashlight goes dim.

Oh, God. The one and only tool I have to try to get out of this horror show and it’s just been destroyed. Amy is breathing hard but steady. She’s not bleeding, but the bandage is soaked with blood. I can’t tell how long ago someone removed her arm.

I can’t see.

All I can do is feel.

Blackness surrounds me. I hear nothing. I know that above us there is a coffee shop full of customers and employees. People are sipping lattes and eating pastries. They’re on laptops and checking email. Mothers come in with toddlers. Old ladies meet for a morning talk.

And Mikey’s upstairs, knowing he trapped me in here.

I let out a choking sound that is like a sob, only ten thousand times worse.

Mikey. That face. His anger, then nervousness. What is that about? Why did he trap me in here? I sit in the inky darkness. The only sound I hear is Amy’s loud breath and my own sniffles. I pull her up against me, sliding her head and shoulders into my lap. She’s warm, but not hot. No fever.

I’m careful not to touch the shoulder where her arm used to be.

I make a weird sound of disbelief. Where her arm used to be. Whoever captured her has cut off one of her arms. Her entire arm. Where is it? When did they cut it off? Why did someone cut it off?

I go bone-chilling cold.

I know damn well who did it.

El Brujo.

My heartbeat feels like a voice. I know there’s no echo down here. Everything is muffled. At the same time, it’s like every sound is a scrape. Each time I move, I hear it magnified. Every time I shift Amy’s weight against me, it feels like the last time I’ll hear sound.

As the reality of my situation sinks in, a small, scrabbling creature grows inside my breastbone. It’s fear, clawing its way out of me.

I start to shake. I hold my breath, my body heaving as the air tries to get in. I can’t control any of this. It’s panic, pure and simple.

My body is revolting against the truth of what is happening, and I’m literally a passenger in my own meltdown.

Amy groans and rolls on one side. Her good arm is covered in scratches. I feel them with my fingertips. Because I’ve lost the sense of sight, I try to focus on what I can experience. Touch still works. Gently, I run my fingers over her arms, neck, shoulders and face. She has scratches everywhere, and one wound on her jaw that feels tender and slightly warm to the touch.

I avoid the shoulder joint where her arm has been removed.

“He’s coming,” she mutters. A streak of horror, like an electric current, zips from my heel to the top of my head.

That’s what she said in one of my nightmares.

A nightmare that has just come true.

“Who’s coming, Amy?” I ask, stroking her hair away from her face.

“The butcher...” The word comes out like a hiss, like an agonal sigh. It feels like it echoes into my bones. If I was freaked out before, now I’m completely frozen by utter terror. I can’t think. Can’t feel. Can’t move.

Can’t anything.

If he is really coming, then we’re sitting victims. We’re prey. We’re just here, waiting for our fate.

One limb removed at a time.

“Amy!” I whisper, shaking her. I feel her groan, then move.

“Wha?” Her breath is hot against my thigh.

“When did he do this to you?” The blood seemed fresh enough that it must have been recently.

“Don’t know. How many days has he had me?”

My gut clenches. Oh, holy hell. I count in my head.

“A week. Seven days.” Has it really only been a week? It feels like half my life.