AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Romy
Before my lids even open, I decide the day is the day I’m getting out of here.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to die. And not at the hands of the Devil.
I prop myself up on my elbows and attempt to blink away the throbbing in my head. Once the world stops spinning, I take a moment to drink in my immediate surroundings. A guest bedroom, the one Donnacha pulled me into and announced that I’d signed my life away. It’s a simple space, all-white everything, seasoned with the occasional pop of color, which stops it from looking like an expensive insane asylum.
Well, I’ve been in this apartment for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already losing my mind. My emotions are warped, and my instincts are out of whack. Insanity is the only thing that explains why I promised Donnacha Quinn, one of the scariest, most powerful men in the United States, that I’ll bring his family’s empire to the ground.
And why I felt dizzy with excitement and giddy with lust when saying it.
Well, I should make good on that promise.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, letting my bare feet sink into the plush cream carpet. Gah, that feels nice. When I usually get out of bed, I’m greeted by splinters in my toes and the next-door neighbors having a meth-fueled brawl on the other side of the thin walls.
Although my own apartment is a shithole, I need to get back there, stat.
I tug on the jeans and hoodie sprawled on the floor. They are the same ones I got married in, and two of the very few possessions I have. When I pat down all my pockets, I realize now, they are the only possessions I have.
My phone and my pocket knife are gone.
Fuck.
I sink to my knees, checking under the bed. My cell isn’t that important—I practically swung from the fucking ceiling yesterday but still couldn’t get signal in this goddamn penthouse—but my knife? It’s more than just a much-needed weapon.
It was a present from Mak.
It’s not even nine o’clock, and I’m raging. Muttering venom under my breath, I yank on my Chelsea boots and storm out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the main room.
“I’m going to kill him my own bare hands,” I hiss to myself. Where is he?
But as I reach the main room, I skid to a stop.
What? How?
Everything is perfect. There’s not a single hint that I ripped through the entire apartment yesterday, destroying everything I could get my shaking hands on.
The sofas are cloud-soft and untarnished. The rug is clean and fluffy. Every surface gleams white. Taunting me. Even the fucking sun has decided to make an appearance, splitting through the clouds and streaming through the glass, giving the living area God’s golden touch.
I swallow hard. Try to calm my ever-increasing heartbeat.
So, what? The Devil has fast-acting cleaners. It’s no surprise that a man like Donnacha Quinn has people on his payroll to make shit like this happen overnight.
I can’t let the shock deter me from my mission. First, I need my pocket knife, then I need an escape plan. Before any of that, though, I need to figure out exactly where I’m escaping from.
Turning on my heel, I stomp back down the way I came, stopping at every door that lines the hall. My body quivers with the knowledge that the Devil could be lurking behind any one of them. Apart from a large bathroom, each door is locked, including those within the room I slept in last night.
My rage is beginning to turn into frustration, and my fingernails are digging half-moons into my palms as I head back to the main room. I cross through the open-plan living area and into the kitchen space and begin tugging open every drawer and cupboard.
Empty.
Every knife, every plate. Every goddamn spoon and glass. Gone.
Anything I can use as a weapon.
The laughter that rips from my lips doesn’t sound like mine. It’s manic, melting into hysteria. “Where are you?” I rasp into the silence. My words echo back to me. I know he’s here, and if he’s not, at least that big dumb brute, Ronan, is.
I practically run across the room toward the elevator, leaving a wildfire in my wake. I remember Ronan saying it won’t work without a million passcodes, your retina scan, and the blood of your firstborn, or something like that. But I slip off my boot and slam the heel into the screen because it’s quite surprising how often brute force overrides even the most complex technology.
