“I don’t hate you,” Pandora says, and she sounds genuinely confused. “Why would you think that?”
“Because…” Samantha trails off, looking at me again before glancing back at Pandora. “Are you going to get me out of here?”
Pandora nods. “Yep! It’s a promise. A guarantee.” She walks over to the window and pulls the curtain back.
She tries to open the window, but of course it’s bolted shut. Pandora sighs.
“I tried that already,” Samantha says with a hint of annoyance.
“I don’t know! Maybe you were too scared to break your neck or something.” Pandora bangs her elbow against the glass. “Okay, that’s probably reinforced. I didn’t bring any glass cutting tools. Mostly because I don’t own them. I’m not an internationally wanted art thief.”
In all honesty, we’re poorly prepared for this whole rescue mission, something I’m increasingly aware of.
“Let’s go back the way we came,” I suggest. “We’re getting you out, Samantha, and we’ll figure out the rest later. Okay?”
Samantha’s eyes snap to me. “You’re just going to leave the others here?”
Pandora smiles even wider. “Apparently yes. Who cares about the other bitches, right? The brunettes and the Asians and?—”
“It’s not that we don’t care,” I interrupt, not liking the look of that smile at all. “But what are we going to do, Pandora? Do you have a plan?” I can’t help the hope from entering my voice.
If anyone can come up with a plan, it’s Pandora.
Fuck, I really am still head over heels for her, despite everything, always having faith that she can do the impossible.
“Well, I can’t burn it all down,” Pandora says. “Otherwise that would be the plan.” She runs her hand along the wall. “The plaster looks pretty flammable though…”
“No fires,” I say firmly. “Not with who knows how many women in these rooms.” I grimace. “We’ll… figure something out. Okay? But for now, we need to get Samantha out.”
I look at Samantha, really look at her, and I notice she’s only wearing a nightgown. There are no shoes to be seen, but that’s not a surprise.
Fuck.
Pandora seems to notice at the same time. “Give her your hoodie, River.” She pulls her beanie off and hands it to Samantha.
I take my hoodie off and offer it to Samantha. She snatches it away from me and pulls it on. It’s big enough on her to where it covers more on her than it did on me, though her lower half is still mostly exposed.
I hadn’t even thought about bringing something as basic as clothes.
“Okay,” I repeat. “Let’s go.”
Pandora reaches into her pocket and pulls out her knife.
“So, y’know how I said I had a great plan for all this?” Pandora asks.
“Let me guess,” I say, my stomach sinking. “You didn’t.”
“Nope. But I know you can handle it. And I can handle it!” Pandora grins. “Sooo, I’d say it’s 60-40 on somebody waiting for us outside. What do you think the odds are, Asch?”
Asch doesn’t reply, but I can hear that Blaze is still talking to Pam.
More accurately, he’s talkingatPam, who has sounded increasingly pissed off. If Blaze wasn’t George Bouchard’s son, I’m sure her reaction would’ve been worse.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll go out first.”
I head to the door, only to find that it’s locked. I grimace.
“Pandora?” I ask. “I need you to get the door.”
