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The door swings open on blissfully well-oiled hinges. Peeking out, the hall is empty. I tiptoe out and close the door behind me, leaving it unlocked in case I need to make a hasty dash for cover. Padding silently with my bare feet, I make my way down the hall, through the massive living room–kitchen combo, and to the door. Based on the numerous, non-decorative appearing locks, I’m guessing this is the entrance. Through the peephole it opens into a small lobby with an elevator and an unmarked door, which I presume leads to the emergency stairs. A small box on the door that matches a connecting one on the jamb inclines me to believe it’s alarmed.
Well, shit.
Naturally, this is the time I hear sounds of life from the opposite side of the house. Mainly, distant footsteps. My internal monologue has been replaced with a voodoo chant considering only of selected curse words.
No time like the present.
I slip out the front door, sending up a silent thank you to the heavens when no alarms start blaring. Which is dashed when the elevator doors slide open and reveal a very large man in a dark suit. His gray-flecked hair is buzzed short and his eyes fly open in surprise when he sees me.
“Bloody hell,” he gasps, the thick Irish brogue barely registering in my brain.
Without further consideration, I dash down into the stairs, ignoring the shrill alarm that follows. I can hear him crashing down the stairs behind me.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I’m flying down flight after flight until my breathing is ragged. The behemoth is still behind me, his loud footsteps and occasional shouts to stop keeping me apprised of his location.
Rounding the next landing, I hear more voices coming up the stairs. I can’t understand the Gaelic conversation, but they are very, very close.
Shit.I back up the stairs to the last landing and try the unmarked door. Not only is it unmarked, it doesn’t even have a handle on this side. I slam my shoulder into it.Nope.
The voices below have started shouting up to the giant above me. I back as far against the wall at the top of the landing as I can and wait.
The voices below me end up being two men, far younger than the giant, but of much thinner build. I run as fast as I can down the stairs and try to barrel through the smaller of the two. The lanky blond kid isn’t much older than me, and I’m pretty sure a pajama-clad woman running toward him at full speed was not what he was expecting. He tumbles to the ground. I do too, but my momentum carries me down to the next landing. Half crawling, I pull myself back up and start down the stairs again, just in time to run right into Red.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp. He’s got a giant hand around each of my biceps.
“Lass, where you running off to now? Didn’t like the supper he fixed you?” He laughs at his own clever joke and starts to prod me back up the stairs.
Which I’m absolutely not doing.
“Christ, woman, why do you have to make everything so bloody difficult?” Patrick complains, before hoisting me over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” I scream, kicking my feet and trying to hit my fists into his kidneys. From my upside-down angle, I’m not having any real success. The behemoth and the other two have arrived.
“Stop bloody hitting me or I swear to all that is holy I will drop you on your head. There’s nowhere else to run, lass.”
Damnit. I hate that he’s right.There is nowhere else. I’m severely outnumbered and there seems to be another cranky Irishman behind every corner. It was dumb luck I made it as far as I did. Being carried over his shoulder and bouncing up and down every step as Patrick carries me up the stairs is making my head throb and I’m starting to feel seasick.
“Ok, fine. Just put me down.”
Patrick sighs, as if I’m stomping on his very last frayed nerve. Setting me down, he grabs my chin between two fingers and turns me to face him. “No more trouble. Walk your arse back up those stairs. Now.”
So I do. Behind me, his phone chirps.
“Aye. We’re headed back up.” He chuckles. “Gave you the slip, did she?” His cheerful tone is nicely contrasted by the muted growl coming out of the phone. I can’t make out the words, but the tone doesn’t sound particularly happy.
Fantastic.
Patrick chuckles again before disconnecting the phone.
Waiting at the top of the stairs is a very, very angry Sean. His dark hair is ruffled from sleep. He’s barefoot, dressed only in a pair of dark gray sweatpants. I try to ignore his sculpted chest and shoulders with minimal success.
“What the fuck was that?” I can see him clenching his jaw as he speaks.
“Had a hankering for Chinese food?” I was aiming for a touch of bravado, but it fell majorly flat.
Sean grabs my biceps and pushes me through the door. As he closes it, I hear him mumble something to the behemoth. When he settles into a post outside the door, I realize my chances of a round two escape have just vaporized.
Sean leans against the kitchen island. Arms crossed over his chest, he focuses his arctic eyes on me. “What the hell were you thinking?”
