“I’ll be back in three hours,” he says to someone in the hallway. Probably Haesung or Seokjin. “Make sure the perimeter is secure. No one gets in or out.”
“Yes, boss.”
The bedroom door closes. I hear the lock click from the outside.
I wait, counting my heartbeats. One minute. Two. Five. The house settles into silence around me, that particular quiet of a large space with most of its occupants gone. I can hear distant sounds from other parts of the mansion but nothing nearby. Nothing on this floor.
I reach into my mouth and work the thin piece of wire free from where I’ve had it tucked against my cheek for the past three days. I snagged it from a clothes hanger in Suha’s closet, carefully bending it until one end broke off. Then I hid it the only place I knew his guards wouldn’t search when they bound my wrists or clipped my leash each morning.
The wire is slick with spit as I straighten it between my fingers.
I could have left anytime. That’s the funny part. The cage lock is good quality, but it’s not designed to keep in someone who actually knows what they’re doing. I’ve picked better locks with worse tools, usually when some landlord decided to change the locks before I could grab my stuff after missing rent.
But I didn’t leave. Not when Suha first locked me in here. Not during the long hours he spent at his desk while I knelt at his feet. Not even when he left for meetings and I had the bedroom to myself for an hour or two.
I stayed because some fucked-up part of me wanted to. Because the sex was incredible and the bond felt right in a way nothing else ever has. Because being owned by someone strong enough to actually dominate me scratched an itch I’ve had since I was sixteen years old and figured out I was wired wrong.
But calling me useless? Dismissing me like I’m actually just a warm hole with nothing else to offer?
Fuck that. And fuck him.
The lock is a standard pin tumbler, five pins from what I can feel. I insert the wire and apply gentle tension, feeling for the binding pin. My hands are steady despite the adrenaline starting to pump through my system.
The first pin sets with a quiet click. Then the second. The third one sticks and I have to back off and try again, adjusting the angle. Fourth pin. Fifth pin.
The lock opens with a soft snick.
I push the cage door open slowly, half expecting alarms to start blaring. Nothing happens. I crawl out, my knees protesting after being folded up for the past hour, and stand in the middle of Suha’s bedroom. Naked except for the collar still buckled around my throat.
First things first. I need clothes.
Suha’s walk-in closet is bigger than some apartments I’ve lived in. Rows of expensive suits, shelves of folded shirts, a whole section just for shoes. Everything is organized by color and type, because of course it is. The man probably has his socks alphabetized.
I grab a black button-up from one of the shelves, silk or something equally ridiculous. It hangs loose on my frame since Suha’s got a few inches and probably twenty pounds on me, but it’ll work. I find dress pants that are too long, rolling them up at the ankles. Socks from a drawer that contains nothing but black dress socks, all perfectly folded.
The shoes are a problem. Suha’s feet are bigger than mine and everything in here is expensive leather dress shoes that would fall off if I tried to run. I’ll have to go barefoot.
I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror and pause. The collar is still locked around my throat, thick black leather with that heavy silver ring at the front. I tug at it experimentally but the buckle is designed to be impossible to remove without the key. Which Suha keeps on him at all times.
Fine. I’ll deal with it later. Right now I need to move.
I crack open the bedroom door and peer into the hallway. Empty. The lights are on but there’s no sound of movement, no guards posted outside like there usually are. Suha must have taken most of his security detail with him to the dinner, probably to make a show of strength after being shot. Look at me, I have so many loyal men that I can afford to parade them around even when someone just tried to kill me.
His arrogance is my opportunity.
I slip into the hallway, moving quietly in my socked feet. The house is massive and I’ve only seen a fraction of it during my captivity, but I remember the general layout from when they first brought me here. The bedroom is on the second floor, east wing. There’s a main staircase at the front of the house but that’s probably where any remaining guards would be stationed.
I need another way out.
I try three different doors before I find what I’m looking for. A guest bedroom with a balcony overlooking the gardens. The door is unlocked, and I slip inside, crossing to the glass doors that lead outside. They open silently, and I step out into the cool evening air.
The balcony has decorative ironwork railings, and below it, maybe ten feet down, is a trellis covered in climbing roses. Beyond that, manicured gardens stretching toward the outer wall. I can see the wall from here, maybe fifty yards away, toppedwith what looks like decorative stonework but is probably hiding security measures.
I swing my leg over the railing and test my weight on the trellis. It holds. The ironwork is sturdy enough and the trellis is anchored into the stone facade of the house. I climb down carefully, thorns from the roses catching on Suha’s expensive shirt and tearing small holes in the fabric.
My feet hit the soft grass of the garden, and I freeze, listening. Somewhere to my left I can hear voices. Guards on patrol. I duck behind a hedge and wait, watching their flashlight beams sweep across the lawn.
Two of them are walking the perimeter. They’re spaced far apart, more concerned with people trying to break in than anyone trying to break out. Why would they worry about that? The only person being kept here is locked in a cage in the boss’s bedroom.
