Heavy footsteps and angry voices carried up the stairs,and terror slid up my spine.
We weren’t the only intruders tonight.
Chapter 52
Sebastian
The Near Miss
“Sebastian, I’m scared.”
The words from Evie’s perfect lips sent my world spiraling. I stared at her as the world around me crumbled into darkness. Evie, the one who had told me time and time again she was ready to die for her revenge, was scared. I reached for her hand and squeezed.
“It’s okay. We need to hide.” I stood and looked around for a place to put her. She was short. We could make this work.
“Who is it you think?” she whispered as we crept into Charles’s bedroom.
“It’s probably a looter who’s been scoping the house. Shh…” I put a finger to my lips and urged her toward the bed. I lifted the bedding that hung over the side of the mattress. “Get under here.”
“Under the bed?” she asked me, incredulous.
“You got any better ideas?” I hissed as I went to the door, shutting and locking it. “They don’t know the code, obviously. They broke in. Get under the bed and hide.”
“What about you?” she asked as she dropped down and scooted under the large pink bed.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my knife. I popped it open and reached for the door handle. “New plan. Lock this behind me.” Quietly, I slid out of the room.
“Seb—” Her angry whisper was cut off as I shut the door.
I waited until I heard the click of the lock behind me.
I went to the edge of the stairs and listened.
“Where do you think they’d be?” a man said. He was speaking at a normal volume, implying he wasn’t afraid of being caught.
“With how many he’s got, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re all over. Charles wouldn’t be stupid enough to put them all in one place.”
My blood chilled. I recognized that voice—Elliott Bradley.
This was serious—Elliott had come out himself.
He was looking for the notebooks.
The notebooks that were currently locked inside the room Evie was in.
I gripped my knife and looked up and down the hall for somewhere to go. I couldn’t let them get to Charles’s bedroom.
“Open every cabinet and drawer. Check under pillows, cushions, everything. I don’t give a fuck. We need those books. I’m afraid Charles grew a heart and told her about them,” Elliott said.
Soon, the sounds of glass breaking, wood splintering, things crashing to the floor, and fabrics being ripped drifted up the stairs as he and his partner began trashing Charles’s home, looking for something they weren’t going to find.
“Are we even sure they’re here?” the other man asked. “What if he put them in a safety deposit box or something?”
“He might have,” Elliott agreed. “But we need to check here first. I guarantee we’re not the only ones looking for them.”
Elliott was smart—which made him more dangerous than anyone with a knife.
“Yeah, well, with the paparazzi up their asses, they can’t go anywhere without being tailed.”
