Installment 25 of my featured novel “Relentless” is here!

I am publishing the novel in small installments, so it takes only minutes to keep up with the story. Many years ago, I was a fan of Stephen King’s installment-based publishing of “The Green Mile” over many months, so I am following in that vein as a feature on Moteventure.

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RELENTLESS – D.S. FACTOR

ABI

As the solid and insistent knock reverberated against Winn’s door, Abi and Winn exchanged a tense glance. They hadn’t anticipated visitors. Abi’s mind raced, considering their options. Should they answer? Or hide? The half dozen individuals outside remained a mystery, but one thing was clear: their lives were about to take a not-so unexpected turn. 

Winn signaled to Abi, moving stealthily into the pantry across from the kitchen. With sock-clad feet, she shifted a throw rug aside, revealing a nearly imperceptible trap door underneath. Pressing firmly, a subtle click sounded, and the door popped open slightly on its hinges. Lifting it open fully revealed what seemed a curious blend of crawlspace, panic room, and root cellar, offering safety and secrecy.  

The pounding at the door escalated with imperceivable voices permeating the walls. Winn could hear her elderly neighbor padding down the hallway to confront whoever was making the racket. The woman’s voice escalated steadily as she demanded to know how the interlopers gained access to the building and why they were pounding so loudly at the door. The sounds of a scuffle ensued, followed by a short-lived thud and the sound of something heavy sliding down the wall to silence. 

Pressing her index finger vertical and firm against her lips, Winn motioned for Abi to descend the narrow stairs to the unexpected floor amid the luxury-style condominium complex.  Abi’s heart raced; they’d need to close the trapdoor swiftly to avoid detection. 

The door creaked shut, sealing them in darkness. Winn’s iPhone screen flickered to life, casting eerie shadows on the walls. They were safe for the moment, but danger lurked just beyond their hidden refuge.

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In the dimly lit hallway, a shadowy figure detached itself from the group of dark-clad strangers. His movements were swift, deliberate. The lock before him was no ordinary one—it bore the telltale signs of a digital mechanism. The man’s gloved hands held a set of picks, but he hesitated. Instead of forcing the lock, he slid them back into a worn leather bag slung over his shoulder. 

His gaze shifted to a pocket on his coat, where he retrieved a sleek, phone-like device. Its surface lacked buttons or switches, an enigma in and of itself. With a deft motion, he activated it. A low-frequency hum emanated from it, almost undetectable to the human ear. As he brought it closer to the lock, the hum intensified, taking on a rat-a-tat-tat rhythm. The air seemed charged, as if the very molecules conspired to unlock the door against its will. 

Then, a subtle shift—a metallic whisper. The lock surrendered; its digital defenses breached. Ten heartbeats later, the man turned the knob, and the door swung open. Darkness swallowed him as he stepped into Winn’s space, leaving no trace of his passage. The room held secrets, and he was about to uncover them—all while the echoes of his intrusion reverberated through the seemingly empty rooms. 

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Upon entry, the man’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. His cronies, hardened by years of illicit work, snapped to attention. The air smelled of fresh linen drying on a line and grass, as if Winn had been able to bring the outside into her living room. 

“You two,” the man’s gaze swept over the pair, “search the bedrooms.” His finger jabbed toward the hallway, where shadows danced along the walls. The cronies nodded; their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They were the muscle—the ones who knew how to extract information or leave a mark when needed. 

“Delaney,” the man’s voice softened just a fraction, “you and Hawthorne take the kitchen and the dining area.” Delaney, wiry and quick, exchanged a glance with Hawthorne. They were a mismatched duo—Delaney with his scarred knuckles and Hawthorne, always a step behind, eyes darting nervously. 

As they stepped into the kitchen, Delaney wasted no time. He tore open sleek cupboards, revealing stacks of fine china and crystal glasses. The room smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. Bowls clattered to the floor, and glasses shattered, their delicate fragments echoing like a broken promise. Hawthorne winced, but Delaney’s focus remained unyielding. 

“Right, Boss,” Delaney muttered, his fingers leaving smudges on the polished surfaces. Hawthorne followed suit, pulling down curtains and rifling through drawers, his movements less assured. 

The leader’s patience wore thin. “Keep it down,” he hissed, appearing in the doorway. His eyes bore into Delaney and Hawthorne, shards of glass crunching underfoot. “We’re not here to announce our presence.” The man’s own footsteps were silent, a predator’s glide. He gestured toward the hallway, where the others had disappeared into the darkness. “The rest of us will take the other rooms on our own.” 

Delaney swallowed, the weight of the task settling on his shoulders. The kitchen held its secrets, but so did every corner of the place. As he and Hawthorne moved deeper into the shadows, they wondered what they’d uncover—the kind of secrets that could change lives or end them, with Abi Spencer at the center of it all.  

In the kitchen, Hawthorne and Delaney pressed on with their search. Hawthorne’s gaze fell upon the pantry shelves, their wooden edges a bit worn from years of use. As he stepped closer, his boot caught on a throw rug, its frayed corners curling up like secrets waiting to be revealed. He stumbled, catching himself just in time, but his foot landed on a section of the floor that yielded unexpectedly. The shiny service groaned, and something beneath his foot shifted—a hidden compartment, perhaps, or a lucky break clawing its way to the surface. 

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