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Redfangs know they’re being watched. I’m locked down in the penthouse.
The response is instant and gut-punchingly predictable.
Where is Nikolaj?
I imagine Bridget hunched over a console, ready to sacrifice my ass.
I reply anyway. She might not rescue me, but Serafina’s incriminating computer?
That’s the motherlode.
Nikolaj isn’t here. Sounds like he’ll be around tomorrow. I have Serafina’s laptop and phone. When are you coming to get me?
Too much heat. Stay in place, and we’ll send someone to collect in the morning.
Collect me?
Or just the gadgets?
I wait for more info that never comes.
I fill the bath in case these creeps check if I followed orders, but after a while, I drain it without touching the water.
Baths are for rich lady omegas who aren’t worried about being caught without their contour makeup and sent to the auction block.
A-freaking-gain.
I yank off Serafina’s stilettos to return the circulation to my toes and be ready to run. Then I paw through her luggage so I can refresh the lemon pheromones slowly fading from my stolen clothes.
I’m hoping for a big T-shirt or a gown, but Sera’s nightwear is all black satin and crotchless panties.
Nope.
I’m not dabbing “share panties” off the Bingo card from Hades, crotched or un-crotched.
The best I can do is a pair of lemon-scented leggings long enough to hide my ankle grizzle and a yoga shirt that zips up the throat. For added disguise, I belt into a cushy hotel robe and stick a knife in my pocket before checking the main room.
The dining room table is spread with enough food for a family of five, and I hate that I didn’t hear so much as a rustling take-out bag when the guards waltzed into my room.
Did I read the wrong script?
This can’t be how you treat a princess.
But I’m stuck, starving, and I can’t remember the last time I had a meal that wasn’t served on a plastic tray, so I pounce, ready to enjoy me some rich girl food. Like prime filet, and caviar wrapped in bacon and gold.
Nope.
Sushi.
Plates and plates of dishes I can’t name or recognize.
It’s not that I won’t try new things, but I’m in disguise, highly stressed, and the fanciest thing I’ve ever eaten is bow-tie pasta.
Can a girl get a cheeseburger?
But my empty stomach demands food, and dinner isn’t the hill I’m going to die on. So, I paw until I find cold noodles with sliced cucumbers and a brown sauce that turns out to be spicy peanut.
Okay. Yum.
