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“Serafina is willing to testify against her father, but it takes time to prepare warrants and a case. We need you to keep Nikolaj distracted. Buy us twenty-four hours and then we can discuss your freedom.”
Twenty-four hours?
I’m minutes from being bought and bitten.
But that’s never happening again.
Never.
Again.
So, more like I’m seconds from snapping and showing the Redfangs, the SAS, and every shady gangster pack in the building that they picked the wrong fucking girl.
Discuss my freedom?
Let’s be honest.
The SAS never wanted me free.
But I’m not stupid either.
My words come out so flat and smooth, Bridget can’t possibly imagine the magma churning through my heart. “If you want time, I’ll have to make a scene. You know it’s an auction?”
“Yes. Use your discretion. The primary goal is keeping the target from fleeing.”
Sure.
My discretion notices that my safety and sanity were never a factor, and we’ve stopped pretending this hell night is anything but my funeral party.
Now all I care about is front-loading the idea that I’m going to cause trouble. Then I’ll have a few more seconds of pre-planned chaos before leadership realizes I’m already gone. “Yes, Commander. I scouted a fire alarm I can trigger. There’s no way the Redfangs can continue if emergency services invades the property.”
“Good. Contact Simon with concerns. Fissure out.”
The disconnected line roars. Or maybe that’s the smoke bleeding off my brain.
I would say I can’t believe this, but of course I can.
Bridget’s the one who made the mistake.
She never should’ve taken off my cuffs.
Officially in escape mode, I move.
Yanking my collar and tightening my robe, I head for the balcony. All I need is an escape lane. A dark corner with no dogs. Even a medium-dim corner with a slightly smaller dog.
I step out and taste fresh air.
Then the balcony guard whips a handgun to my forehead.
Ignoring a shit-he-almost-shot-me heart stutter, I lift my nose and go full-on heiress. “Are you fucking insane?”
“Princess.” The alpha drops his weapon, wide-eyed. “You can’t be out here. It’s—”
“Says fucking who?” I’m throwing too many F-bombs, but one per sentence keeps the Serafina edge slicing-sharp.
“Says the boss.” The alpha ducks his shaved head, submitting more to Nikolaj’s authority than my trophy princess status, but he’s alone, and I have to roll the dice.
“Make it up to me?” I ask more sweetly.
