8. Chapter 8 #4
I push the cage door open slowly, half expecting alarms to start blaring. Nothing happens. I crawl out, my knees protesting after being folded up for the past hour, and stand in the middle of Suha’s bedroom. Naked except for the collar still buckled around my throat.
First things first. I need clothes.
Suha’s walk-in closet is bigger than some apartments I’ve lived in. Rows of expensive suits, shelves of folded shirts, a whole section just for shoes. Everything is organized by color and type, because of course it is. The man probably has his socks alphabetized.
I grab a black button-up from one of the shelves, silk or something equally ridiculous.
It hangs loose on my frame since Suha’s got a few inches and probably twenty pounds on me, but it’ll work.
I find dress pants that are too long, rolling them up at the ankles.
Socks from a drawer that contains nothing but black dress socks, all perfectly folded.
The shoes are a problem. Suha’s feet are bigger than mine and everything in here is expensive leather dress shoes that would fall off if I tried to run. I’ll have to go barefoot.
I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror and pause.
The collar is still locked around my throat, thick black leather with that heavy silver ring at the front.
I tug at it experimentally but the buckle is designed to be impossible to remove without the key. Which Suha keeps on him at all times.
Fine. I’ll deal with it later. Right now I need to move.
I crack open the bedroom door and peer into the hallway.
Empty. The lights are on but there’s no sound of movement, no guards posted outside like there usually are.
Suha must have taken most of his security detail with him to the dinner, probably to make a show of strength after being shot.
Look at me, I have so many loyal men that I can afford to parade them around even when someone just tried to kill me.
His arrogance is my opportunity.
I slip into the hallway, moving quietly in my socked feet.
The house is massive and I’ve only seen a fraction of it during my captivity, but I remember the general layout from when they first brought me here.
The bedroom is on the second floor, east wing.
There’s a main staircase at the front of the house but that’s probably where any remaining guards would be stationed.
I need another way out.
I try three different doors before I find what I’m looking for. A guest bedroom with a balcony overlooking the gardens. The door is unlocked, and I slip inside, crossing to the glass doors that lead outside. They open silently, and I step out into the cool evening air.
The balcony has decorative ironwork railings, and below it, maybe ten feet down, is a trellis covered in climbing roses.
Beyond that, manicured gardens stretching toward the outer wall.
I can see the wall from here, maybe fifty yards away, topped with what looks like decorative stonework but is probably hiding security measures.
I swing my leg over the railing and test my weight on the trellis. It holds. The ironwork is sturdy enough and the trellis is anchored into the stone facade of the house. I climb down carefully, thorns from the roses catching on Suha’s expensive shirt and tearing small holes in the fabric.
My feet hit the soft grass of the garden, and I freeze, listening. Somewhere to my left I can hear voices. Guards on patrol. I duck behind a hedge and wait, watching their flashlight beams sweep across the lawn.
Two of them are walking the perimeter. They’re spaced far apart, more concerned with people trying to break in than anyone trying to break out. Why would they worry about that? The only person being kept here is locked in a cage in the boss’s bedroom.
I time their patrol pattern, counting the seconds between passes.
Thirty seconds of visibility, then a gap while they walk to the next section.
When the flashlights move away, I sprint across the open lawn, my bare feet silent on the grass.
I make it to the cover of another hedge just as the lights sweep back.
The outer wall looms ahead. It’s maybe twelve feet high, smooth stone with decorative carvings that might give me handholds if I’m lucky.
There’s a statue near the base, some kind of Greek goddess holding an urn.
I use it as a stepping stone, climbing onto her outstretched arm and then reaching for the top of the wall.
My fingers find purchase on the carved stonework. I haul myself up, muscles burning from the effort, and swing my leg over the top. For a second I’m silhouetted against the sky, completely exposed, and I half expect to hear shouts or gunfire.
Nothing.
I drop down the other side, landing in a crouch in a narrow alley that runs behind the mansion. My feet sting from the impact on the rough pavement, but I’m out. I’m actually out.
I take off running, not looking back, putting as much distance between myself and Suha’s mansion as possible.
The alley opens onto a side street, and I recognize the neighborhood.
Gangnam, one of the wealthy districts. I’m maybe three miles from Wooil’s pawn shop if I cut through the right neighborhoods.
The night air is cold against my skin and I’m acutely aware of how I must look. Barefoot, wearing clothes that don’t fit, with a leather collar locked around my throat. But I don’t care. I’m free.
I think about Suha coming back from his dinner meeting, walking into his bedroom expecting to find me waiting in the cage like a good little pet. I imagine his face when he sees the empty cage, the picked lock, the missing clothes from his closet.
The thought makes me grin despite my aching feet and the adrenaline still flooding my system.
See? Not useless. Not just a warm hole. I got into his hotel room, I tracked his entire operation, and now I’ve escaped from his supposedly secure mansion.
Fuck you, Suha.
I duck down another alley, heading toward the main road where I can catch a bus or flag down a taxi. My feet are bleeding now, leaving small smears on the pavement, but I don’t slow down. I need to get home, need to figure out my next move.
Because Suha is going to come looking for me. I know that with absolute certainty. He’s possessive and controlling and we’re bonded, which means he needs me, even if he doesn’t want to. He’ll tear the city apart to find me.
But right now, in this moment, I’m free. And that’s worth whatever hell he’s going to rain down on me when he catches up.
If he catches up.
I’m not planning on making it easy for him.