And then it’s dark.
We each instinctively pull out our phone flashlights, the atmosphere still tense. What the hell put the lights out?
“It’s fine, the doors propped open,” he mutters.
It’d better be fine. The last thing I want is to spend any more time alone with the prince. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep down the impulse to strangle him.
Following him, I go up the stairs and notice the faint light from outdoors filtering through the propped-open door. It’s bloody freezing in this cellar, worse than when we first came in. We need to get out now.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind burst through the shed and cellar doors, pushing us back. It’s so powerful that the rock stuck in the doorway comes tumbling down the stairs, and the cellar door slams shut.
We stop in our tracks, now in pitch-black darkness. Kingsley’s eyes are huge, and his jaw dropped in awe when I hit him with the light.
I move past him and push on the large door, hoping to gain the strength of the Hulk to free us from this terror. It won’t fucking budge.
“That’s not how it opens,” Kingsley croaks. “It’s command-operated.”
He points to the big button, probably meant to glow when you press it, but the power’s out.
“Kingsley,” I speak slowly.
It’s so quiet, I can hear his short, quick breaths. “Yeah?”
“Are we trapped in the bloody wine cellar?”
“I think so.”
I’m going to freeze to death in a cellar with Kingsley Beaumont.
7
Kingsley
Bang. Bang.
That’s the sound of Rip throwing himself at the steel door like a maniac and thinking it’ll open. He’s slamming into it so hard I’m worriedhewill break.
“It’s got to budge at some point.” His voice echoes down the stairwell.
I’m in the corner, sitting between two boxes, twiddling my thumbs beside the faint light of my phone’s flashlight. Rip has been trying to plow through the door for at least twenty minutes, and I don’t have to see to know he’s not making a lick of progress.
“Fuck!” he shouts, and a sudden bang rattles the door. “All this money invested in this home, and no one thought of what would happen in the cellar if the power went out?”
The door has been faulty since I was a kid, but it’s never been on the list of top priorities since no one spends much time down here.
Rip stomps down the stairs and stalks toward me, his teeth clenched, and his brows knit as he looms over me. “Have you gotten through to anyone?”
I wave my phone lazily. “I still have no cell reception.”
Rip’s lips twist into a strained grin, small chuckles escaping him as he clutches his head and paces. It’s like watching a cartoon villain finally snap.
“Fuck!” he shouts again. “I’m going to freeze to death beside Kingsley Beaumont.”
Freezing to death isn’t so far-fetched. It’s at least forty-five degrees down here, and it’s steadily dropping because of the sudden power outage.
We’ve been in here for all of five minutes, and I’m already feeling like I’m borderline hypothermic. My face is numb, my fingers are acting like sloths, and my teeth won’t stop chattering. Meanwhile, Rip has a slight shiver, and his nose and cheeks are red. I’m turning into an icicle while he is mildly chilly.
But freezing in the wine cellar next to Rip Wright wouldn’t be the worst way for me to go out.
