It was by evening, when Amara and Rowan were inspecting a group of local gang of Las Vegas, if they came in contact with any outside forces.. when Harvey hurriedly entered the room..
Amara’s pulse hammered as Harvey came into the room, his usually steady expression breaking with urgency.
Rowan walked towards him in swift strides. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, his tone edged with steel.
Harvey paused.. catching his breath as he looked between them. “Kyle called,” he said. “There’s suspicious activity on the east side. Some locals saw a group of kids being herded there.”
The words sliced through Amara’s mind like a dagger, and her hand clenched tight. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice shaky but resolved.
Rowan nodded, then shot a hard look at the local gang members in the room. “If you find anything, anything else, you call me first.” His tone left no room for argument, and they nodded in silence.
Amara, Rowan, and Harvey walked towards the car, the tension crackling like an invisible storm. Rowan took the driver’s seat, his expression was like an impenetrable mask. “Call the men and have them gather on the east side,” he ordered.
Harvey dialed the numbers, his voice low and urgent.
Amara sat rigid in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed, hands clenched tight in her lap.
Her breaths were short, the thought of Vaughn enduring some unknown hell nearly more than she could bear.
Rowan glanced at her. “We’re going to get him back,” he said, but even his words did little to ease the fear that gripped her heart.
The drive felt like a slow descent into the depths of her dread, every second stretching into an eternity.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, they arrived.
The sight of the location sent a chill down Amara’s spine.
It was an old, abandoned factory on the outskirts, rusted and rotting with disuse, its walls marked with graffiti and decay.
Her heart twisted painfully at the thought of Vaughn being held in such a forsaken place for literally too many days now..
As soon as Rowan parked, Amara moved to open the door, intent on rushing in.
But Rowan’s hand clamped over her wrist, stopping her. His grip was firm, his gaze calm yet unyielding.
“What?” she snapped, desperation simmering in her voice.
“Wait,” he replied, his tone measured.
Amara glared, her voice brittle. “Wait for what?”
Rowan’s face softened, though his resolve didn’t waver. “We don’t know the situation inside. If we go in guns blazing, Vaughn could get hurt..” He cut himself off, the implication clear and cutting.
The logic held her, though it took every ounce of her self-control to stop herself from tearing forward, regardless of the consequences.
Rowan dialed the number of Kyle, holding the phone up to his ear as he spoke quietly.
“Kyle, where are you?”
“We’re here, forty-five degrees left from you Boss,” Kyle responded, his voice a low murmur.
Rowan glanced out the window and saw his men posted in the shadows, waiting for his command. “Move in discreetly,” he ordered.
After hanging up, he turned back to Amara. “I’ll go in and find him. If he’s there, I’ll bring him out. You wait here.”
She shook her head, her eyes blazing with a fire that hadn’t dimmed since the day Vaughn had been taken. “I’m coming too.”
“Amara,” he replied, gripping her arm gently but firmly, “I’ll get him out safely.”
“He is my son, Rowan,” she said, her voice trembling yet unyielding. Her fear had been overtaken by raw, unstoppable determination.
He sighed, reading the determination on her face.
He knew there’d be no stopping her. “Fine,” he relented, though his tone held a warning edge. “But stay close to me.”
He reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a gun, its dark barrel gleaming ominously in the dim light. He handed it to her along with a cartridge of bullets.
She took it without hesitation, her fingers moving deftly as she loaded the bullets into the magazine. The hard click of metal against metal was strangely comforting, grounding her in the present, in her mission to bring her son back.
Harvey broke the tense silence. “I’ll go around to the other side and meet you both inside,” he offered, his voice laced with a steely focus.
Rowan nodded. “Amara, you’re coming with me.” His tone left no room for argument.
The three of them slipped out of the car and approached the building with cautious, measured steps. Shadows flickered across the cracked windows, casting strange patterns against the broken concrete.
The place was a haunting shell of its former self, with peeling paint and remnants of past industry strewn around, filling the air with the stale scent of rust and mold.
Rowan kept close to Amara, his movements smooth and silent, his senses alert.
As they reached the main entrance, Rowan peered inside, scanning the dimly lit interior before motioning her forward.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of decay, every creak of the floorboards beneath their feet resonating like thunder in the silence.
The factory’s vast, empty spaces echoed their footsteps, and each sound made Amara’s nerves prickle.
They moved down a narrow hallway, Rowan leading the way.
Their sense were heightened, the hair on the back of his neck prickling with the sense of being watched.
He glanced back at Amara, his gaze reassuring, his grip steady as he led her deeper into the heart of the derelict building.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught his eye at the end of the hall. Rowan held up a hand, halting her steps, and signaled for her to stay behind as he pressed forward.
Amara’s heartbeat pounded in her ears, her eyes straining against the dim light as she watched Rowan disappear around the corner.
Seconds stretched into an eternity before he reappeared, signaling the way was clear.
She followed him, her movements tense, until they reached a vast, empty room at the center of the factory, scattered with broken furniture and piles of debris.