Chapter 13 Sienna
Sienna
I don’t breathe until I hear the door slam, and Benedikt’s voice disappears.
And even then, I don’t move.
Not until the elevator dings down the hall.
I wait at least five more minutes before I crawl out from behind the heavy blackout curtain, my heart pounding.
My legs are stiff, my neck hurts from being folded in half, and my ass is numb from sitting cross-legged on the cold floor.
But at least I’m not in a closet or under a bed. That’d be the first place they’d check.
I push the curtain aside and creep out of my temporary hiding spot.
The room is a disaster.
The bedsheets are tangled and hanging off the mattress. The armchair near the window is knocked sideways. Benedikt’s shirt from earlier is balled up on the floor next to the bed, right where he dropped it. A hole in the wall explains that the loud bang I heard was his fist.
The air smells like him. Sharp cologne, clean soap, and the faintest trace of mint.
I can still feel him in the room, like the air hasn’t figured out he’s gone yet. Like he’s still here, watching and waiting.
I wrap my arms around myself and step carefully through the mess.
I need to move.
I need to go, because this place is dangerous.
I tiptoe to the nightstand where I left my purse and freeze.
It’s gone.
No. No, no, no.
I whip around, scanning every surface in the room. The floor. Under the bed. In the bathroom. Nothing.
My purse is gone, and with it, my phone, wallet, ID, and credit card. Also, the forty-seven bucks in cash I was counting on to at least get me to the airport.
“Shit.” I drag both hands through my hair. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Okay, okay. Deep breaths.
It has to be here.
Unless he took it.
I glance toward the door as that realization hits like a ton of bricks.
Benedikt probably snatched it the second he realized I might make a run for it.
My stomach sinks, and I press a palm to it, trying to keep the panic from boiling over, but I’m shaking. I feel cold and hot at the same time.
I just need a plan.
I look out the window. There’s a fire escape out there, but I’d have to break the lock on the window to get out and climb down from the penthouse suite.
Spinning on my heels, I stand in the middle of the room, breathing hard and staring at the empty room. I need to move.
I look around until I see my shoes. Black, strappy, uncomfortable, they sit tucked beneath the tipped-over chair near the minibar. I snatch them up and shove my feet into them, wincing at how tight they are after I’ve been barefoot for so long.
No time to care.
I smooth down the hem of my dress and walk toward the door like I belong here and am not seconds away from falling apart and escaping a kidnapping.
The hallway is quiet. No signs or voices of Benedikt, Artem, or any guards.
Keeping my head down, I move quickly toward the elevator. Each step echoes off the walls, but I don’t dare turn around.
If I do, I might start to cry.
Slamming the elevator button with more force than necessary, I pray that it doesn’t ding loud enough to alert the whole floor.
The doors open, and it’s empty inside.
Perfect.
I step inside, press the button for the lobby, and wrap my arms around myself. My throat tightens as I take deep breaths to calm myself as the carriage moves slowly toward the ground.
I just want to get out of here.
Son, the elevator dings and opens into the lobby. Music from the lounge hums low. A few late-night guests linger near the reception desk, laughing and tipsy from the bar.
No one even looks at me.
I don’t run, but God, I want to. Instead, I force myself to march purposefully through the lobby, past the concierge, and out the revolving doors.
The night air hits me hard, cool against my too-warm skin. I pause on the sidewalk, blinking under the streetlights, trying to figure out which direction to go.
I can’t call a cab. I can’t book a flight. I can’t even grab a coffee at the corner café without money.
But I’m not in the penthouse anymore. I’m not trapped. I let out a shaky breath and start walking.
I’ll figure it out. I have to.
I keep my head down as I move. No phone. No ID. No clue where I am in this city. But I’m moving. I’m not locked in that penthouse anymore.
I walk until my feet are raw and the hotel is several blocks behind me, until the adrenaline starts to burn off. I pass bars, convenience stores, sketchy motels. The neon sign of a 24-hour diner glows ahead like a beacon.
I can’t risk sitting down.
Not yet.
I don’t know where I’m going, but the farther I get from that hotel, the easier I can breathe. Not much, but enough to keep me moving.
The streetlights bleed golden across the sidewalk. Cars hum past me in waves. My heels click unevenly against the concrete, but I don’t stop.
I rub my arms as I walk, chilled despite the warm night. And then I see the blue sign.
Police.
I stop in my tracks.
Across the street and one block down, a small, squat building with old brick and a single floodlight pointed at the front entrance beckons to me. No one is outside, but a cruiser is parked at the curb, and the interior lights are on.
My stomach twists.
Benedikt said that the second I involved the police, it was war. I’d start something I couldn’t take back. Dragging the law into his world wouldn’t make me safer.
It’d do the opposite.
I stand on the sidewalk and weigh my options. I don’t want to go in there and tell someone I need help. That I’m not in control. That I trusted the wrong man, and now I’m in over my head.
But what choice do I have?
Benedikt is a nightmare I can’t wake up from, and he’ll find me if I go home. He knows where I live. Even if I run forever, what happens to Grandma? Would he hurt her? Would someone else?
That thought makes me feel like I’m going to throw up.
I pace a few steps away from the crosswalk, trying not to lose it, but I’m spiraling. The street is empty, and I’m not built for this world. His world. All I wanted was to pay off a few bills and breathe a little easier. I didn’t want to get tangled in whatever the hell this is.
I glance up again.
This is my only shot. I have nothing else.
I can’t call my dad. He’s the one who got me in this situation. Reaching out to my grandmother would stress her out, and she couldn’t help anyway.
I cross the street.
My heels wobble on a crack in the pavement because I’ve already made up my mind.
I take the stairs to the building one at a time, pushing through the heavy front door and stepping into a blast of cold air and fluorescent lights.
The front desk is empty at first, but then a cop appears from the hallway.
He’s tall and maybe in his mid-forties, with tired eyes and a receding hairline.
His uniform is crisp, but the look he gives me is automatic, like he’s seen enough people in my position to recognize the storm before I open my mouth.
My voice is hoarse and dry. “I need help. I’ve been kidnapped.”