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My relief is enormous, though it doesn’t really change anything. He’s not here during the day? He’ll be back tonight. I’ve been granted a reprieve, that’s all.
Colt eyes me like he senses my thought process. “If you want,” he murmurs between spoonfuls, “you can hang around the house today. You don’t have to stay upstairs. You just can’t leave.”
“Wow, really?” Maybe I shouldn’t get snarky with him, but the way he said it is so condescending. I’m supposed to live here. This is supposed to be my house, too, but I’m being given permission to act like I live here. Does he expect my thanks?
“Whatever,” Nix mutters with a shrug. “You don’t have to. Just figured you might want to.”
“I would rather stay in my room.” I don’t wait for either of them to smart off to me before I turn on my heel and leave the room. We’re not friends, and we never will be. Besides, I don’t want a day spent in front of the TV right now. It’s a way out of here. I’m not going to waste the opportunity.
What am I going to do, though? There’s got to be a way out. The house has a million windows. One of them has to be unlocked.
Rather than go up to my room like I said I would, I speed walk past the stairs and go into the family room. What a name. Like there’s anything normal about this family. The windows are locked, and I would have to pull up a chair or a stepladder to reach the latches. I don’t know if I have time for that or whether it would be too loud. What are the odds of them going to the gym today? If they did, though, they would probably lock me in my room to be on the safe side. So that wouldn’t help.
No, whatever I do, it has to be fast. Before they get the chance to go back on their word and lock me up. I start down the hall, looking over my shoulder the whole time. I walk into the next room I find, which happens to be James’s office.
I’m surprised he leaves it unlocked, but then I guess he figures nobody has the nerve to step foot in here without permission. He’s that sure of himself, of how tight a grip he has over this house.
I should go straight to the windows behind the desk, but a new idea bubbles in the back of my mind. What if I can use something in here against him? I’m not sure what I’m looking for—the idea is too vague for me to have a clear idea of what to search for. There must be something. Files, pictures, a key for the front door. Something.
I go to his desk and force my way through the revulsion that threatens to choke me; it has my throat so tight. Just being in his personal space makes me want to throw up. His laptop isn’t here, but that might be a good thing. I don’t want to look through it. I shudder to think what I might find.
Instead, I busy myself looking through the drawers. For a man so big on security, it’s a wonder he doesn’t leave the drawers more tightly guarded. They open easily, but at first, all I find are letterheads and envelopes, nothing very interesting or worthwhile. I go to the next drawer, then the next, and my frustration only grows. Paper clips, a stapler. There has to be something—this desk could belong to anybody in the entire world. It’s so impersonal. Doesn’t he store anything worthwhile in here?
It’s when I get to the deep bottom drawer that things start getting more interesting. It’s full of hanging file folders, paperwork, that kind of thing. I don’t have time to go through all of it, and I’m not sure I’d know what I was reading even if I did. Still no key. Maybe he keeps keys in his bedroom, but I don’t dare go in there. I’d have to walk past the guys’ rooms, for one thing. What I’m doing right now is already dangerous enough.
I’m about to close the drawer when something catches my eye. At the bottom of the drawer, underneath the file folders, there’s a picture. Half a picture, actually, which I carefully lift before seeing the other half of the picture underneath it. It’s the fact that it seems so out of place that convinces me to pick up both halves of the photo and put them together, laying them on the desk and lining up the torn edges until the full image reveals itself.
It’s a woman. Smiling wide, she’s dressed in a tracksuit and standing in front of a balance beam.
And I know her. Well, not really, but I recognize her. She was a coach, a gymnastics coach. I met her once at a tournament years ago—her girls were tough, well-trained, and disciplined. But instead of coming off hard and cold, the way I expected, she was warm and encouraged her team. I remember thinking it seemed like she actually cared about them. Too many coaches inspired their gymnasts by being bullies, thinking that would push them just a little bit harder, a little bit closer to winning. But no, her girls were at the top of the leaderboard, even when she seemed to take a soft, almost motherly role. I actually wished she was my coach at one point when she gave a gentle hug to a girl who fell off the beam twice during her routine.
What’s her picture doing here? I don’t have time to mull it over now. The guys are bound to check my room to see if I’m up there, so I need to move fast before they realize I’m gone. For some reason, though, instead of returning the photo to the drawer, I cram it into my back pocket, then turn to the windows to test them.
And when one of them moves, I have to bite back a shout of sheer elation. Instead of announcing my excitement, I ease the window up when what I really want to do is fling it open. I only have to be careful a few moments longer, then I can run.
The drop to the mulched bed below the window is an easy one, and I waste no time once my feet are on the ground. I won’t make the mistake of going to the driveway this time. Sheer desperation sends me running through the woods surrounding the house. They open up onto another property. I know they do. Even if I get caught trespassing, it wouldn’t matter. I just need help.
I can see another house through the trees after only running for a minute or so. There’s a woman out there, weeding in a garden. I see her sun hat from here. Hope floods me, and I have to hold back tears of gratitude before I even reach the property line. How will I get them to believe me? I have no idea, but I have to try. And if they don’t, I’ll keep going. I’ll run all the way to the police station if I have to.
I don’t need to. I don’t get the chance. An arm closes around my waist, and a hand slaps over my mouth before I can scream. She’s there. I see her. All I have to do is scream to get her attention and beg for help. It’s too late. She might as well be a million miles away.
Because Nix caught me. Nix is holding me, breathing hard in my ear. “What do you think you’re doing?” he pants. “You’re going to end up getting yourself killed.” My heart sinks, and my tears roll over the back of his hand as he hauls me off my feet and begins carrying me back to the house. Colt is waiting for us at the edge of the tree line, arms folded, brows drawn together in a scowl. I kick out with my feet, drive my fists and elbows and anything else I can manage into Nix’s body, but it makes no difference.
I’m not getting away. After this, I doubt I’ll ever have another chance.
CHAPTER30
“Here we are, trying to be nice to you, and this is what you do?” Colt slams the front door shut and locks it before Nix finally sets me back on my feet. I whirl around, furious, my breaths coming in big, heaving sobs.
“Nice?” I scream, and that feels good. Hearing my voice echoing, seeing the way their eyes widen in surprise. Like they expected me to be this meek little thing, begging for the slightest scraps of kindness. They didn’t expect me to come back swinging.
“Well, yeah,” Colt finally responds once he shakes off his surprise. “What did you think today was about? We told you—”
“That’s not being nice. That’s just basic decency, you asshole,” I bark at him. Nix snorts, and I whirl on him next. “Sorry if I’m not falling on my knees and thanking you for your generosity, but nothing about treating me like a human being is generous. Why won’t you just let me go?”
When he shrugs, I want to scream again. “Because we can’t. And if you would grow up and see this for what it is, you would understand that.”
“Grow up? So what, that’s your way of telling me to suck it up and deal with it? Because I’m not going to do that. I need to get out of here, dammit. How much farther do you think he’s going to take this before he stops?”
