It’s close to two in the morning by the time we make it to the Dwellers. Being here makes me sick. Even the air seems to stink in this place, as if Mother Nature knows what kind of filth lived here.

“Damn, this place is a real shithole,” Devil says when we pull up to the clubhouse and shut off our bikes.

The parking area is hard-packed earth with stray gravel here and there. You could almost choke on the dust—even with the dew on the ground. The outside of the building is covered in mismatched green and brown tin. It’s been slapped up and cut at angles that don’t line up with other pieces. They’re just butted against each other without care or thought. There are few windows in the building. The ones that are there look like antique, wooden ones. The glass is clouded and foggy in appearance. It’s either from weather allowing condensation to slip between the panes, or years of filth. It might be a mixture of both. Trash is littered around the building. Everything from beer cans and liquor bottles to remnants of fast food containers. Clearly, the Dwellers lived up to their filth in all aspects of their lives.

It’s harder than hell for me to imagine Hayden here among this shit. Maybe this is why she cleans all the time. Hell, I once caught her sweeping the fucking ground around her front steps—as if she was trying to make the dirt clean. If you were forced to live in this, that would explain the need to be clean now.

I walk from my bike to the front doors. There’s two steel doors at the entrance and in front of those are two men almost as big as I am—but dressed in suits. Apparently, even Victor’s henchmen have to dress up to his standards. In my peripheral vision, I can see a small building and I know intuitively that it is the place Hayden tried to hide. A fine tremble runs through my body, causing my hand to shake. I clench it into a fist to disguise it.

“Your name?” one of the men asks. He’s a fucking giant. I might be taller, but this guy is definitely wider. One of his forearms is wider than both of my thighs together. I’ve never thought twice about taking another man on. I’ve never actually met a man I couldn’t take down. He makes me wonder if it’s possible.

“I figure you already know. Victor is expecting me,” I grumble, refusing to play the game.

The man looks at his partner, then speaks into a handheld radio. “Yeah, Boss. There’s two men out here to see you. One is scarred and about the ugliest bastard I’ve ever seen in my life.”

I shrug off the insult. It’s not like I give a fuck. It doesn’t bother me and apparently, my scars don’t bother Hayden.

“I’d watch who I called ugly. You should look in the mirror,” Devil mumbles, I guess offended for me. I could almost like him.

The other guy ignores him. He gets the go ahead to let us inside, and he looks relieved we’re leaving. “Go on in,” he orders.

“Asshole,” Devil tells him, apparently still not over the insult to me. I shake my head at him, trying to tell him to shut the fuck up and let it go—without words. Devil ignores me, continuing to mumble as we pass them. “Dumbass looks like a butt-fuck gone wrong and he wants to talk about someone else. Pathetic.”

I find myself smiling despite what’s waiting inside. Devil apparently has balls of steel, trying to take on a man who could snap him like a twig. It’s either that or he’s a stupid motherfucker. We walk into a big room. I have to say the inside of this damn place looks slightly better than the outside—of course it would be hard to look much worse. It’s an open space with a bar in the front of the room. A few tables scattered around, some pool tables, poker tables, and big screen televisions. There’s some sectional sofas that are worn to Hell and back. Beside one sofa in particular is a fucking metal cage. A big one, like you would house a Great Dane dog inside…or a person.

I know instantly it’s the one Hayden talked about, and rage boils through me as I picture her inside that fucking thing for months. Did they allow her clothes? Did they let her out to eat? Did they let her out to use the restroom? Any of that? Jesus, what if she didn’t care for Blade at all, but had some sort of Stockholm syndrome going with him because he saved her? I’m going to burn this fucking place to the ground. Tonight. I don’t want a trace of anything left. It will cease to exist, just like the memories I want gone out of Hayden’s mind.

I kick the fucking cage with my boot, not feeling better even when it goes back a good five feet. If Devil wonders why, he doesn’t say shit. Victor is standing in the corner of the room surrounded by three other men and in front of him is the preacher. He’s chained to a stripper pole and naked. From the looks of him it appears that Victor has been having fun interrogating him. He doesn’t look so holy now. At least he left him breathing for me. I need something to hit right now. Since Blade isn’t around, the would be preacher is the next best thing.

Time to get the party started.