There’s no sign of a bathroom, which means either they’re expecting us to use a piss pot, or more likely, they’ll let us out, one at a time, to use the bathroom. Which is probably our one chance at escape.
Harper is the one who should try to get away.
Not only because she’s my wife, but because she’s pregnant.
She’s resting her head on the pillow, lying above the blankets on the plush mattress after being practically electrocuted by the device around her neck.
I’ll need to find a way to disarm it.
“Luca.” Her voice is soft, and she mumbles as she pats the bed beside her. She’s only been resting for a few short minutes.
I’m still surveying every inch of our new prison, trying to determine what I might use as a weapon, an escape tool, or even a way to disarm the necklace Harper wears.
If she’s going to escape, we need to get that off of her or, at the very least, make it nothing more than a glorified fashion piece.
“Rest,” I say and glance up at the camera. There is only one in the room, nestled in the corner. I slip out of my shoe and remove my sock, tossing it over the lens, bathing the camera in darkness.
That should work for a while, until one of the guards removes it.
When Harper is feeling better, I’ll have her help me destroy it, but for now, it buys us a little time and privacy.
I scout every inch of the room, including the closet. There’s no paneling, nothing to pry through, or an opening to sneak from one room to the next. I was hoping there might be access to an attic and then a window we might escape from.
Wishful thinking.
While the bulletproof vest and weapons have been taken from me, I’m still wearing the dark ensemble gifted to me by the guard downstairs.
I tap the camera that I’m still wearing, hoping it didn’t get damaged. “Guys, anytime you want to rescue us, I’d be happy to get out of here. We both are ready to go home.”
Harper slowly pushes herself to sit up.
“Who are you talking to?” she asks.
“Just myself,” I say and glance at the covered surveillance camera. If there’s audio attached, I don’t want anyone discovering the hidden camera on me.
The guards only patted me down for weapons, my phone, that sort of thing before locking us inside on the second floor. They were careless, or maybe they believe I was stupid enough to come alone.
I did, after all, get caught.
“Right,” Harper says and fully sits up on the mattress, pushing her legs to the edge of the bed. She glances at the mattress, a slight look of disgust filling her features.
Harper doesn’t have to say a word about what happened because I know, I witnessed it.
Approaching the bed, I bring my hand to her cheek, grazing the skin, forcing her to look at me. “How long have you known?” I ask.
Her brow pinches.
My voice is soft, careful, not wanting to startle her. I caress her cheek, my legs gently nudging hers as I stand in front of her. “About the baby,” I say, clarifying my question, because she’s staring at me, awestruck.
Her face drains of all color, and she exhales a heavy breath. “How did you—never mind.” She grimaces and holds up a hand. There are tears in her eyes, unshed, and she rapidly blinks them away. “Now is not the time for that discussion.”
She’s right, if Livia can hear us, the last thing in the world I want is to give her any information that could be used to hurt Harper or anyone else I care about.
“Why do you think she brought us up here?” I ask.
The whole situation leaves me feeling more than just a little unsettled. She could have paraded us through the compound, back behind the locked metal gates. My gut tells me something’s amiss.
“To torture me all over again, or maybe torment you? She made it clear she wants my baby,” Harper whispers, casting her gaze down to her abdomen, and she rests a protective hand over her stomach. “She thinks it’s owed to her because of what happened to her husband.”
