Page 82 of Break Out the Girl

I guess that was too much to ask.

Giving myself a shake, I realize London and Tally don’t know my other news. I turn to them as they once again morph into human form. “I felt François, and he’s getting closer every second.”

“Shane!” London cheers. “I should have known that shivery snake wouldn’t be down for long.”

Even Tally grins. “Good, we need him. We don’t have long.” He points at Basil’s paper map. “London and I are going to this section of the woods, that’s where the ATVs came from. We’ll see how much of the forest we can scope out before this fucking ‘hunt’ starts.”

“Wait,” Basil pushes his goggles back on his forehead. “What about the cameras? You said they have a live feed. Goat-breath can’t exactly pass as regular wildlife.”

“Well, that’s not very nice, Fuckwad. Fauns are creatures too, you know.” London crosses his arms.

Shit. Hadn't thought of that. “He’s right, London. They won’t be able to smell you, but you’re pretty noticeable.”

Basil prods London on his hairy chest. “Yeah, this isn’t a fucking fairytale land. But like, aren’t you good at climbing and all that shit? Why don’t you move through the tree tops?” He gives a smirk, knowing he’s clever. “And you can take out any cameras you find from above. They’ll all be focused on the ground.”

Tally stares at the boy, respect in his eyes. “Genius. That’s the plan. Can you drive to the main road, Basil? Find somewhere inconspicuous to park and monitor traffic?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Good, then we’ll go now.”

London places a kiss on my cheek. “Stay safe, Kitten.”

Tally just looks at me, his eyes saying everything.

A moment later they disappear into the undergrowth. I watch them for a beat then square my shoulders. They are going to be alright. “Come on,” I say to Basil. “We need to move.”

Barely able to see over the steering wheel, my young companion guides the heavy LandRover a quarter-mile down a farm track, tucking it behind a crumbling brick barn. It’s the perfect vantage point—hidden, but with a clear line of sight of the private road leading straight to Ménage Manor’s imposing main gate.

We’ve only been parked a couple of minutes when a vintage Rolls-Royce purrs down the highway. It slows down at the gate, and after a brief conversation with the security posted there, cruises through.

“Twats,” Basil whispers.

Only five minutes later, another engine echoes from the south. A Bentley.

Suddenly, my chest tugs.

François.

As the vehicle slows to approach the security gates, the rear tinted window rolls down. A thick cloud of expensive cigar smoke drifts into the damp air, as a face looks out.

Clean-shaven, shiny black hair, and a sneer on his face.

François de Vaux, looking like he’s never stepped foot in a puddle, let alone crawled through mud, blood and battles with the rest of us.

He turns his head and stares directly up to where Basil and I are hidden.

Then the car glides smoothly past the gatehouse, disappearing into the walled-off grounds.

Fuck. François is going in as one of them.

That’s so fucking risky.

And might just give us a fighting chance.

29: FRANCOIS

The Bentley slows, the tires crunching onto gravel. We are on a private road that leads to what I have learned is ‘Ménage Manor’.