Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I walk quickly through the hallway, and once I’m away from my door, I no longer hear the shower running. In fact, I hear nothing.
Is that good or bad?
I have no idea, and I can’t take the time to ruminate on it. I need to find something to—
I jerk at a sound coming from down the hallway.
I grab the first doorknob and I say a silent thank you to the universe when it opens.
I slip inside.
It’s dark. Probably another guest room like the one where they were keeping me. Will I find clothes in the closet?
Once my eyes adjust, I look quickly at the door. It’s the same. No knob. No way to lock it or unlock it from the inside without a key.
I can’t think too much about that. Most likely there will be bars on the windows, just as there were in my room. At least I can hide here for a moment and check the closet.
I walk through the sitting area to the bedroom, not daring to turn on the light. The bed is empty, thank God. I open the closet door and—
Nothing.
Fucking nothing.
I don’t dare speak. What if someone monitors these rooms? What if the intercom is on?
Holy shit, what if there’s a camera?
I slide along the edges of the room until I’m back to the door. I draw in a deep breath, not even caring that I smell like puke.
I need to get out of here soon, so no more looking for clothes. It’s this nightie, puke and all, or nothing.
And it sure as hell won’t be nothing.
I swallow, gather my courage, and—
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The door is closed, and with no knob, I can’t open it, even though it’s not locked.
Maybe I can use Miles’s phone. I grab it.
It’s locked. Of course. With an eight-digit code.
I can still make a call to one of his emergency contacts. Of course, they’re all going to be family.
And I can’t call 911. Any cop who ended up coming to my rescue would surely be one who’s been bought by the McAllisters. Plus their sirens would alert all of the family members and servants that something is up.
Damn it!
I throw the phone across the room.
I shake my head, my heart falling to my gut. I lean into the wall on the left side of the door and slide down into a sitting position, burying my head in my hands.
I’ll be punished for this.
I told Miles I’d come with him willingly, and the first chance I got, I tried to make a run for it.
They’ll find me soon, and God only knows what they’ll do to me.
I sit in the crouched position, my stomach empty, my hair a mess, my nightie caked with dried vomit.
And I accept my fate.
3
FALCON
Still walking in the shadows, Leif and I case the mansion. We pace all the way around, looking at each point of entry as Leif assesses it.
We don’t encounter any hounds, but Leif throws a piece of the tainted beef jerky every couple of steps to ward off any who might show up.
“I think this one,” Leif says when we find a door.
“Why this one?”
“It appears to be a door to the servants’ entrance. It’s far less grand than the main entrance, and off to the side. The McAllisters wouldn’t want any of their distinguished guests to enter through here. We’ll be less likely to run into anyone we can’t buy off.”
“Christ,” I say under my breath.
“Hey,” he says. “None of that shit. We’re going to get through this.” He pats me on the shoulder. “We’re going to get your lady back, man. The Phoenix always rises.”
I hope to God he’s right.
I sure as hell don’t want to go back to the slammer, but I’ll do it if it means saving Savannah.
Leif messes with his lockpick, and within a few seconds, the door is open.
I’m expecting a couple Dobermans to lunge out and go for our throats, but they don’t, thank God.
“All right,” Leif says. “No talking at this point. Not even a whisper.”
“How do we communicate then?”
“With our hands.”
Yeah, right. That’s not going to work, but I don’t want to be the one to tell Leif.
We walk in and are greeted with the hallway and two staircases, one going down and one going up. The servants’ quarters are clearly not as elegant as the main part of the mansion. The entryway is small and dimly lit. The floor beneath our feet is weathered and scuffed linoleum and the walls are plain and painted in muted, peeling colors. It’s an area of functionality rather than beauty, a stark reminder of the social hierarchy within the mansion.
I raise my eyebrows at Leif. This place obviously has a first floor, but we can’t access it from here.
“If they’ve got her here,” Leif says. “She’s either in the basement or on the second floor. She’s definitely not on the first floor.”