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I catch a glimpse of the small smirk tilting his lips before I turn toward the door. I’m twisting the doorknob when his low, syrupy words trickle along my nerve endings. He mutters them from the shadows, but I hear them like he yelled them into a megaphone.
“Bet you don’t last the night.”
My shoulders hitch, and a familiar thrill coasts down my spine. “Bet you twenty bucks I do.”
“Bet you fifty.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, hot, bitter annoyance swelling inside of me. “Yes, sir.”
The lure of freedom and an orange glow wash over me as I open the door to the bridge.
“Penelope.”
My lids flutter shut. So close.
“It’s yes, boss.”
