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I keep low, hidden amongst the heavy fabrics, holding my breath, hoping I won’t be caught. The trip from the changing room to the storage room around back feels like it takes a millennium. When the clothing rack finally comes to a stop, the employee whispers, “Okay, we’re here.”
I pop out and hastily look around. No Ben, no Merrybell. I’m in the clear.
I take the employee’s hands and give her fingers a squeeze. “Thank you so much,” I say earnestly. “Please don’t tell them.”
She nods, her face twisted in confusion and concern. “A-alright, Mrs. Antonov. Good luck, I guess?”
I turn and race out the back door. I run as far as my legs can carry me. New York is loud and busy and disorienting. Once I’m roughly ten blocks away, I pull out my phone to look at a map. The nearest Greyhound bus station on 42nd and 8th is a little way from here, but if I hurry, I should be able to make the next bus out to Florida.
Blending into the crowd is easy enough. I keep my head down and walk with purpose, vanishing into the sea of endless faces. Nobody pays me any mind, too busy getting to wherever they need to go to so much as glance at me. I appreciate the anonymity of the city. With any luck, I’ll be able to slip on through without trouble.
My heart skips a beat when I finally make it to the bus station. It costs roughly $150 for a one-way ticket from here to Orlando, but that’s a small price to pay for my freedom. The clerk behind the desk doesn’t ask any prying questions, doesn’t stare at me too long. He gives me my ticket and tells me the bus will be departing in twenty minutes.
I’m not too sure how much time has passed since I left Merrybell and Ben behind, but I’m sure they’ve probably realized I’m gone by now. I try not to let the guilt bother me. It’s nothing personal.
I board the waiting bus and find a seat near the back, slumping into it with a shaky exhale. I’m almost out. I’m almost free. There’s an endless world of possibilities waiting for me and I’m anxious to meet them. Once I get to Orlando, I’ll have to secure food and lodging, and with a little over four thousand dollars, I’m sure I can figure out my next steps.
Ten minutes until departure.
I keep checking my phone, anxious. I just want to leave. I’m practically vibrating out of my seat, I’m so exhilarated.
Five minutes until departure.
More and more people board the bus. The seats are filling up quickly. With every person that climbs on, my heart skips a beat. I’m jumpy, on edge. I check each time someone comes into view, anxiously making sure it isn’t Pyotr.
Zero minutes. We should be leaving any second now.
Except we never do.
“Sorry, folks!” the bus driver says from the front. “Looks like we’re experiencing some technical difficulties. I’m going to have to ask you all to get off the bus while our technician works on the repairs.”
My chest caves in.No. No, this can’t be happening. I was soclose.
A few of the other passengers grumble under their breath, but nonetheless vacate their seats and shuffle toward the exit. I remain where I am out of sheer stubbornness. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I step off this bus.
The sound of heavy footsteps reaches my ear. I sink into my seat, my heart railing against my ribcage.
“Well, I have to give you credit for persistence,” a familiarly deep voice comments.
I look up to find Pyotr standing in the aisle, the vein at his temple pulsing. His tone may sound triumphant, but his face betrays his annoyance. He crooks a finger, beckoning me to follow.
Dammit.
It looks like he’s won this round.
Chapter 10
Pyotr
“Are Merrybell and Ben in trouble?”
I don’t bother answering. While I have control over my anger, I don’t trust myself to speak. I rarely have to raise my voice—truly powerful men never have to—but Alina has a way of pushing all my buttons.
We’re seated in the back of my car, the driver navigating the evening traffic rush in silence. There’s a transparent divider separating us, but I still don’t feel like having this conversation when others are present.
“Pyotr, I—”
“Not another word until we get home.”
