Chapter 5 The Old Mill
Aria POV
Night fell hard over the compound, burying the iron bars of my window in thick, heavy shadows. Down below, the distant hum of the clubhouse had completely died out; the mechanics were gone, the bikes were parked, and the silence that settled over the compound felt suffocating.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, the blue leather notebook pressed flat against my thighs, staring at the coordinates written in Ethan’s jagged hand. The Old Mill on Route 9. It was twenty miles north, deep in the pine woods along the river. If Dante’s men were sweeping the border docks to the south, I had a window—maybe a few hours—before he realized he was searching in the wrong direction.
Standing up, I slipped the notebook into my sweater pocket and pressed my ear against the cool metal door. Outside, the floorboards creaked in a slow, rhythmic drag. Carlos was pacing the hallway—tired, pissed off, and eager for his shift to end.
I needed him away from that door.
I backed into the small washroom, turning the brass tap until cold water gushed full-force into the sink. I jammed the rubber stopper into the drain, letting it fill until the water spilled over the brim, splashing onto the linoleum floor in a steady rush. Then, grabbing the heavy glass water pitcher from the bedside table, I dropped it onto the floor.
The shatter echoed like a gunshot.
Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Keys jingled frantically, and the heavy iron lock turned with a violent click.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" Carlos slammed the door open, his hand dropping to his hip holster as his eyes darted to the broken glass in the pooling water.
"The pipe burst," I said, backing toward the window with my hands raised, forcing myself to look wide-eyed and shaken. "I tried to turn it off, but the handle snapped—"
Carlos swore, taking two heavy steps toward the basin to reach the shutoff valve. "You useless—"
The moment his back turned, I moved.
I grabbed the wooden chair from the corner and swung it with everything I had, slamming it hard into the back of his knees. Carlos buckled with a muffled grunt, crashing forward into the wet linoleum. Before he could recover, I lunged backward out the door, slammed it shut, and turned the key from the outside with a sharp clack.
Carlos hit the metal door from the inside, his fist rattling the frame. "Aria! Open this damn door! I'll break your neck!"
I didn't answer. I stuffed the keys into my pocket and ran.
Slipping down the back staircase to avoid the main bar, I exited through the side loading door near the kitchen. The cool night air hit my face like a sharp slap, smelling of damp earth and exhaust. Beneath the single flickering yellow bulb of the secondary garage sat a battered, matte-black dirt bike—keys still dangling in the ignition.
I swung my leg over the seat, kicked up the stand, and turned the key. The engine roared to life with a loud, raspy cough that echoed across the empty gravel lot. Without looking back, I slammed the bike into gear and tore out onto the unlit stretch of Route 9.
The wind cut through my sweater to the bone as the dark forest swallowed the road, my headlight slicing through the fog. After fifteen grueling minutes along the winding asphalt, the decaying silhouette of the Old Mill loomed through the trees—a massive structure of rusted iron and rotting timber resting on the river’s edge. I killed the engine a hundred yards back, letting the bike coast into the tall brush before laying it down in the dirt.
The heavy wooden door hung loosely off its hinges. I slipped inside.
The air reeked of wet rot, rust, and mold, with moonlight pouring through shattered skylights to cast long, jagged shadows.
"Ethan?" I called out in a sharp whisper. Nothing. Only the steady dripping of water somewhere in the darkness.
I walked toward the center of the main floor, my heart pounding in my throat. In the far corner, near the massive iron gears of the old waterwheel, sat a small, rusted metal tool chest. My breath hitched. Hurrying over, I dropped to my knees, flipped the latch open, and found two sleek, black encrypted hard drives sitting alongside a small silver key attached to a blue ribbon.
"Looking for these?"
The voice didn't belong to Ethan.
It came from the dark catwalk above. A heavy, measured pair of boots stepped into the moonlight—the cold, unyielding outline of a weapon immediately visible. Dante Blackwood stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with an expression that made the blood in my veins run ice-cold.
"You really don't know how to stay where you're put, Aria," Dante said, his voice dangerously soft as he began a slow, deliberate descent. "And now... you've led me right to what I was looking for."
He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped several feet away, his eyes moving from the open tool chest to the drives in my hands, then back to me. Something in his expression shifted—not into anger, but into a cold, terrifying disbelief.
"How did you know about this place?" he asked quietly.
"I was looking for Ethan," I swallowed, tightening my grip on the drives.
"That isn't what I asked. The Old Mill isn't a place anyone simply stumbles across."
"No one told me," I said, step by step backing myself into a corner as his gaze hardened.
"Then Ethan told you. You're lying." The accusation struck harder than I expected. Dante gave a humorless breath, shaking his head. "For days, you stood in front of me pretending you knew nothing. You let me believe you were frightened, confused, and completely unaware of what your brother was doing. And all this time, you knew."
"I didn't! From where you stand, I know how it looks, but—"
"I gave you every opportunity to tell me the truth," he interrupted, his voice dropping into a register far sharper than before. "I have been looking for Ethan while his sister was sitting under my roof, knowing exactly where to find what he stole."
"You think I was using you?"
"I think you know more than you've told me," he said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. "Give me the drives. Now."
Slowly, I placed the hard drives in his palm. He picked up the silver key with the blue ribbon, looking at them for a long moment before meeting my eyes with a gaze completely devoid of warmth.
"I don't know what Ethan told you," he said coldly. "But I'm done taking your word for it."
He turned toward the stairs.
"Dante," I called out, my stomach twisting into knots. "I didn't betray you."
He stopped, holding still as the river rushed outside, before looking over his shoulder one last time. "That's what I'll decide."
I remained frozen in the middle of the abandoned mill, watching him disappear into the shadows. For the first time since I had been brought to the compound, the reality of my situation violently shifted. Before tonight, Dante had seen me as Ethan's sister—a hostage, a potential weakness, a bystander caught in the crossfire.
Now, he saw me as a traitor who had lied to his face. And I had no idea how to prove him wrong.
