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Ignoring me? That’s a surefire way to get spanked. Is that what you’re aiming for?

I toss my mobile onto the bed and fall back so that I’m looking up at the ceiling. How the hell do I respond to that? Reaching over, I pick it up and type.

ME:

I thought you had to work.

I’m waiting for the cockwomble to show up. He’s late.

Have fun, then.

Sitting up, I lay my phone on the nightstand when one more comes through.

Let me take you to breakfast in the morning. When do you leave?

I decide it’s better to ignore his question and head to the bathroom. I need to get ready for bed, then go check on Grams to make sure she doesn’t need anything before calling it a night. I don’t have time to play his games.

Once I’ve taken care of all that, I pick it up again and type.

No.

Yes.

Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough. Let me rephrase this so it’s easier for you to understand. N. O. No. That means no. Like never. Like it’s not happening in this lifetime. Not interested. I’ll pass. Go bother someone else. Leave me alone. Goodbye.

Those three dots bounce, and I can’t seem to look away. Pushing him is a thrill I didn’t know was so invigorating, although I honestly mean no.

8:00 in front of your grandparents’ building. Be ready. Don’t make me come get you. I will, and the scene I’ll make you don’t want them witnessing.

With a frustrated heave, I toss my phone onto my bed and storm out of the room. “Fuck you, arsehole.”

There’s no way in hell I’m having breakfast with him.

No fucking way.

Chapter 16

Isabel

A loud, blaring alarm rips me out of a restless night’s sleep.

I only drifted off an hour ago, after tossing and turning, the insistent ticking of the clock in the background. Aiden’s demands about breakfast had me on edge and kept me awake.

But no one can sleep through this. I’m guessing that’s its intent.

Climbing out of bed, I snatch my fuzzy robe off the chair and slip it over my tank and sleeping shorts. As I tie it, I notice smoke seeping in under the door.

“No. No, this is not good.”

My fingers brush the doorknob, but I pull back, pressing my hand flat against the wood, remembering to check the door first to see if it’s hot. It’s cool. Before grabbing the knob, I test it—cool.

A faint click sounds as I turn the latch and pull the door open. Smoke billows in, stealing my breath and making me cough. I can’t see shit, and my eyes burn.

Closing the door to keep the smoke from overtaking my safe space, I pause.

Instinct takes over. I scramble into the ensuite, gathering towels, soaking them, and tie one around my head to act as a filter against the acrid smoke.

The goal is to find my grandparents and get us all out before it’s too late.