Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Maybe he was calling Luc to loop him in, or he was calling someone to look over what I’d found and verify it. So, I’d sat down on the suede sofa in the living room and waited, still wearing his silk pajama pants rolled at my waist and ankles and one of his T-shirts that smelled like him.
Marksen had come back in a few moments later, stopping when he saw me.
For several moments, we just stared at one another, saying nothing.
Then he had turned and just … left.
He hadn’t said a single word.
He just left, and I sat there confused.
What was he doing? A deal was a deal.
I did what I said I would. I proved my family wasn’t attacking him.
Why the hell was I still here? Then it occurred to me he said he would let me go, but he never said he would take me home. I went to the front door and tried it.
It was unlocked.
There was no reason why my heart should ache at not being locked in. Shaking off the twisted emotion, I opened the door and peeked out, half hoping/half dreading to see Marksen standing there as if this were yet another fucked-up game.
The door opened to a windowless entryway with a gold-plated elevator door.
And no Marksen.
I ran back into the apartment to find something for my feet. I had no idea where my phone, purse, or shoes were, and it didn’t matter. All I had to do was get out of this building, then I could find someone who would let me make a call. I knew Luc’s number by heart.
He’d made me memorize it so I had someone to call if I were ever in trouble. I was pretty sure this qualified as being in trouble.
If I could get clear of wherever Marksen had me, then I could get home.
I just hoped we were in a relatively safe part of the city.
The only thing I could find that even sort of fit was a pair of Valentino leather clog slippers. I stuck my feet in them. The wool lining was impossibly soft, making me think that he had never worn them.
Good, he wouldn’t miss them, not that it would have stopped me if he did wear them.
I ran back to the front door and pressed my ear to it, listening for any sign that he had returned.
After a moment of hearing only my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, I stepped into the marble entryway. I pressed the gleaming golden button for the elevator. It only took a moment for the elevator car to arrive and the doors to slide open to show it was completely empty. Inside there was just one button, marked with the letter “L” for the lobby, and a keyhole next to a gold plaque engraved with a stylized “P.”
I was in a penthouse with a private elevator. That really shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. I was dealing with Marksen DuBois, after all. Of course, even his secret lair, where he held innocent women captive like some comic book supervillain, was a penthouse. Only the best would ever do for Marksen, as made apparent by the slippers I was currently wearing and had no plans of returning.
It was either a penthouse in a high-rise or one built inside a volcano, and that would have just been impractical in New York City.
I hit the button and stood for several minutes as the elevator moved down. Each floor that passed, I was more and more convinced that this was a bad idea. It was too easy. The doors were going to open and some big, beefy guy with tattoos and chains hanging from piercings would make me go back. He would then tell Marksen what I did, and Marksen would punish me.
Or maybe private security would be waiting, some random, ex-military for-hire guy who had been dishonorably discharged and was part of Marksen’s private army of mercenaries. In the no more than five minutes it took to get from the penthouse to the lobby, several scenarios played out in my head. I was convinced that whatever the doors would open to would be far more dangerous than Marksen’s penthouse.
I was kicking myself for not staying in that apartment and using the laptop to contact someone. It would have been so much safer to get a message to Luc and have him come get me.
When the doors finally slid open, it was to a beautiful marble lobby with a large wooden desk in the middle of the floor. The attendant at the desk gave me a quick once-over and then averted his eyes. Clearly trying to afford me some privacy.
It was what I would have expected if I was a guest, not a hostage.
No doubt, this man still worked for Marksen, so I made a mad dash to the sets of glass exit doors. He didn’t try to stop me. No one did. I looked behind me, and he was still writing something down in a ledger.