Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
It was late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, and I’d never been more aware of the time.
I only had to endure this bullshit nun act for a little longer. Seven p.m. couldn’t get here fast enough.
The heat of the bath eased my shoulders as I sank lower, breathing in the soft floral scent I’d poured into the water.
It was the kind of smell that made you feel pretty.
I dragged a razor over my legs until my skin was smooth and touchable—legs ready for dancing and maybe more.
Who knew where a New Year’s Eve night out with one of Manhattan’s most famous socialites might end up.
I smiled at the thought of getting ready together.
Sofia and Margaretta would have the best makeup; they’d play music, we’d drink wine, and have fun.
It’d been so long since I’d just been able to hang out with other girls—no guards, no rules, no one watching my every move. Tonight, I got to be normal.
My hair was piled on top of my head under a thick conditioning mask. My curls were a nightmare on a good day, and tonight I needed them manageable—something I could shove under a veil while I made my escape, but would still look smooth and full, not like I’d wrestled a lawn mower.
I stared at my toes as I stretched out, submerged up to my chin, and forced myself to breathe. Tonight just had to work out. I was due some good karma.
I was nervous. Obviously. Only an idiot wouldn’t be.
But underneath it, I was…ready.
Spain had been a cage, and I wasn’t going back. If I had to hitchhike across the country to get away from my father, I would. If I had to work three jobs and sleep on someone’s couch, fine. I wasn’t fragile. I was just done.
My mind wandered straight to the man from the church.
I hated that.
It had been days, and I still couldn’t stop seeing him when I shut my eyes. That scowl. The way he looked at me as though he wasn’t buying any of it—not the holy act, nor the quiet, sweet girl my father liked to show off.
And his hands.
God. His hands were huge. He’d grabbed me and moved me as if he could control every move I made, whether I liked it or not.
And for some insane reason, I’d loved it.
I loved fighting with him—the way his pupils had blown wide with desire.
I bet he was the type to enjoy kinks where he could dominate his partner.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d known his fingers were firmly planted against the apex of my legs after he’d thrown me over his shoulder, holding me in place with one of those massive hands.
And to make my weird obsession with the man worse, he’d put himself between my father’s guard and me. He’d taken a risk—for me. A strange girl trying to beat the crap out of him. It didn’t make sense.
Nothing about that night made sense.
I’d fought him because I wasn’t going to let some stranger drag me out of a church like a sack of potatoes.
But some perverse part of my mind had wondered what would have happened if I’d let him take me.
Kill me, sell me, that was most likely. Still, my body had done that annoying thing, sending tingles zinging to my core, a low, traitorous shock of heat before my brain could catch up.
Of course the first man who ever sparked that kind of instant attraction was a thug trying to abduct me in the middle of the night.
Perfect.
I exhaled and told myself, for the hundredth time, that it didn’t matter. After tonight, I’d be gone. My father wouldn’t find me, and neither would the men trying to get to him by using me.
Maybe I should’ve warned Sofia about that night. About the armed man.
But I didn’t. I wanted tonight to be simple. I needed one person in my life who wasn’t tangled up in fear, secrets, and control.
Sofia had always been daring. Spoiled, sure, but sharp—the kind of girl who didn’t flinch when adults tried to intimidate her. She definitely didn’t like my father and made a sport of helping me push back against him.
That alone bolstered my confidence that tonight’s plan would work out.
I dipped under the water and ran my fingers through my hair to loosen the conditioner, then rinsed it out with the handheld sprayer.
Tonight was my birthday. Twenty-two. And not one person acknowledged it.
Not my father. Not the staff. No one. He’d scheduled my return to Spain for January first, as if it were any other day on the calendar.
But then he hadn’t been much of a father since the day he announced he was running for mayor of New York City.
So his forgetfulness shouldn’t surprise me.
It didn’t bother me so much, because this year’s birthday was the first day of the rest of my life.
My new life. And I was determined to make it memorable, regardless of whether anyone else remembered it.
The water had cooled, and my skin had wrinkled. It was time to get going. I stood, drained the tub, and moved fast. I quickly combed through the tangles, dried my hair, and added soft curls with a curling iron I’d found at Gracie Mansion.
I dressed for my escape plans first: warm running clothes, thick socks, and boots. Practical and dark.
Then I packed the crossbody bag I’d bought before leaving Spain, stashing my passport and the little cash I had inside before sliding it over my head.
I left my phone behind.
No tracking. No signal. No helpful location services that some government official could use to find me.
I erased my texts and reset the phone too—anything that could link me to Sofia or the plan.
I wrapped it in toilet paper and threw it in the trash.
I was probably paranoid, but paranoia had kept me alive this long.
Finally, I pulled on the Carmelite habit.
The costume my father loved.
I pinned my hair back, tucked it away, and looked at my reflection in the mirror, forcing my expression to go blank. No sign of tonight’s excitement or ambition.
Then I walked toward the private elevator in the center of the penthouse. One of the guards turned toward me with a frown.
Showtime.
“You ready to go?” he asked, the annoyance clear in his voice as he pushed the button.
“Yes, thank you,” I said sweetly.
“All right, let’s get this over with.”
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft thud, and we started down.
“Officer Douglas,” he said in an authoritative tone, as if I should be impressed.
I glanced at him and then looked straight ahead.
He was in his mid-forties, with a receding hairline he’d given up fighting and a beer gut stretching the buttons of a cheap uniform that tried too hard to look official.
He had a gun on his hip, a baton, and cuffs—enough hardware to scream insecurity to anyone paying attention.
Which was exactly the problem.
He stood out like a neon sign. Any real threat would spot him in half a second and take him down before he could unclip that weapon. My father had a talent for hiring men who only looked the part.
Douglas shifted his weight. “All right, Sister,” he said. “Here’s how this is gonna go.”
I stared down at my folded hands.
“You stick to the plan. You don’t wander. You stay where I can see you when we get there.”
I nodded slightly.
“You don’t drink. And you don’t cause any trouble like what happened with Fred on Christmas night.”
That got my attention.
I lifted my gaze just enough to meet his. “I didn’t do anything to Fred.”
He snorted. “Well, if you hadn’t demanded to go out late at night to pray, none of that would’ve happened.”
I took a breath and kept my voice calm. “If my father didn’t attract men who think abducting his daughter is a good idea, there wouldn’t be any trouble to begin with.”
His jaw tightened. My sass irritated him. Men like him never tolerated it.
I tilted my head slightly and softened my tone. “I’ll pray for you,” I added. “Anger weighs heavily on the soul.”
That shut him up. He looked uncomfortable, which was a small win.
The elevator opened to the garage, and I followed him toward the town car waiting with the engine running. The driver—another guard, younger—opened the back door without comment.
“Hoboken,” I said as I slid in. “Here’s the address.”
He took the paper, glanced at it, then returned to the driver’s seat.
Douglas climbed into the front passenger seat, muttering something about traffic, and I leaned back against the soft leather.
Two guards. That made things trickier, but Father had promised they’d stay out of sight. He didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.
Cheerful holiday music played on the radio as tension hummed under my skin. I forced my expression to remain neutral and my posture relaxed—the picture of a girl doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing.
My father still thought he owned me. He thought Spain had made me manageable. He had no idea I’d been planning this since I ran away from the convent.
And without knowing the full story, Sofia had made my escape possible.
No reason for my father’s people to suspect a thing.
Smart.
I watched the city slide past the tinted windows and went over my plan for the hundredth time.
The brownstone I’d chosen sat a couple of blocks away from Sofia’s aunt’s place in Hoboken—a quiet street, a wide front porch that wrapped around the side.
I’d mapped it down to the cracks in the sidewalk.
The plan was simple.
They’d drop me at the front. I’d walk up the porch, turn, wave, then head down the side with purpose. No hesitation. At the end, a short set of steps led to the back.
Behind the row of houses, a narrow service alley ran straight to the next street.
I’d ditch the habit in the first trash bin I saw and run.
I’d rehearsed the sprint so many times I knew it by heart. Turn left. Then right. Count three houses. Cut through the yard. Don’t look back.
The only variables were dogs and neighbors.
If I got caught, I’d play dumb. Lost. Apologetic. The sweet sister act had gotten me out of worse.
I glanced at my hands, folded in my lap, and felt a small bit of satisfaction.
Reaching out to Sofia might be the smartest thing I’d done in years.
The car slowed as we turned onto the street I’d chosen, and my pulse finally started to race.
Almost there.
The car slowed, tires crunching softly against the curb.
“This is fine here,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “Right by the porch, please.”
The driver eased in exactly where I wanted him to. Close enough that I could step straight onto the sidewalk without circling back. Close enough that they wouldn’t be able to see down along the far side wall.
Perfect.
Douglas twisted in his seat, already irritated. “You’re sure this is the place?”
“Yes,” I said gently. “My friend’s aunt lives here.”
I smiled as I opened the door, not waiting for him to get out.
“Thank you for driving me tonight,” I added. “You’ve both been very kind.”
The driver glanced back at me, but neither man made an effort to get out.
“Don’t be long,” Douglas barked. “We’re keeping an eye on the place until you’re finished.”
“Of course,” I said. “I won’t stay too long. An hour at most.”
The driver hesitated. “Hey—uh.” He cleared his throat. “Would you…pray for my mom?”
Douglas shot him a look. “Jesus, man.”
“She’s sick,” the driver muttered.
I softened instantly. “I will,” I said. “I’ll light a candle for her the next time I’m in church and pray for her full recovery.”
His shoulders eased. “Thank you, Sister.”
“Miracles happen all the time,” I said. “You just have to believe.”
Douglas snorted. “All right. Go.”
Rude. I slammed the door shut and stepped onto the sidewalk, the cold biting my nose. The car idled, headlights still on as I walked up the short path toward the porch, feeling their eyes on my back, and forced myself not to rush.
At the top of the steps, I turned and lifted my hand in a small wave.
I’m fine. Stay put.
Douglas didn’t wave back. The driver did.
I stepped onto the porch, then turned and walked along the side of the house.
Don’t hurry.
The shadows swallowed me as I passed a couple of windows. My breath sounded too loud in my ears. I counted my steps to stay calm.
Ahead, the narrow staircase dropped toward the back.
I took them two at a time, boots landing quietly on the worn concrete, rushed forward, and slipped into the alley behind the houses.
It was quiet back here except for the wind rattling trash lids. Somewhere, a radio played faintly through a wall, and a car horn blared in the distance.
I didn’t stop.
My hands fumbled with the veil first as I kept moving, breath coming too fast. The pins fought me, snagging in my hair, and I hissed under my breath when one scraped my scalp. The layers of the habit were heavy and uncooperative, catching on my arms as I twisted free of them, refusing to slow down.
My heart was hammering against my ribs by the time I finally wrestled out of the last piece. I balled it all up and shoved it deep into the nearest trash bin, easing the lid back down, careful not to let it clatter.
Only then did I take off.
My feet hit the pavement hard as I bolted down the alley, lungs burning. Left. Right. Count three houses.
A dog barked.
Loud. Close.
Shit.
I ran faster, arms pumping, boots slipping slightly on damp concrete as something barreled toward me, snarling.
I veered just as it lunged—and the leash snapped tight, yanking it back mid-air. The dog hit the end of the tie-down with a furious bark, straining and snapping as I ran away.
I didn’t look back.
The next alley spilled me out onto Sophia’s aunt’s block, where I slowed my pace to a walk so I wouldn’t look out of place. I couldn’t afford to be sloppy.