Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BAILEY - PRESENT DAY
I mark another day on the legal pad I pilfered from the study. It’s not an exact calendar, but between this and my view of the grounds, I have a close enough idea of the date. It’s been another three months since that townhouse. Nine months altogether. Summer to fall to winter and now spring again.
So many seasons in this beautiful prison, and I’m no longer the girl who arrived here trembling and broken. That girl died three months ago in a London townhouse, watching helplessly as monsters devoured another person I care about.
This morning, like most others, I sit across from Sir at the breakfast table, my spine straight, my face a mask of neutrality.
He barely touches his food, which is unusual for him.
He normally takes such deliberate pleasure in his meals, taunting me with each measured bite.
Instead, he pushes the eggs around his plate with his fork, pausing occasionally to press his fingertips against his temple.
My focus is elsewhere though, inside I’m plotting how to sneak into the kitchen again and grab another carving knife from the block.
“You seem distant lately, my dear,” Sir says as he places his fork on the side of his plate. “Ms. Harrington mentioned you’ve been less responsive during your lessons.”
I pick at my bowl of bland cantaloupe, wishing I could throw it across the room.
I know I should be grateful I have food to eat at all.
Every time I think back to the days of living in King’s holding house with the others I’m racked with guilt.
It was a different kind of torture. The hunger pangs that would make me unable to sleep, weak enough to barely lift my limbs.
Exactly how King wanted me—a weak, exhausted, starving girl who could only fight back with words, not fists.
“I apologize if my demeanor has been unsatisfactory, Sir,” I reply, keeping my voice as expressionless as my face. Polite enough to keep him happy, but not the warmth I used to fake.
He rubs his temple, studying me. “On the contrary, I find this side of you to be more mature. You’re growing into yourself. Becoming the woman you were meant to be.”
The woman you made me become.
In his twisted mind my coldness equals sophistication, my withdrawal a trait he’s been artfully crafting. After all this time, I don’t even remember what it’s like to be me. The old me, before they all molded me like a clay doll.
I’ll let him think that he’s winning. That the woman he purchased and carefully cultivated is still trembling and afraid. He has no idea that every night, I dream of Polly’s blank face as she stood in front of King. If not her, then Cat, or Jasmine, or Lydia.
Let him be blind to the rage simmering in my chest like a low flame, waiting patiently to incinerate everything he holds dear.
“Ms. Harrison will be busy today making preparations for a special guest,” he says, glancing at me from the rim of his cup. “Polly will escort you.”
Warring reactions bounce through me. A guest is never a good thing, but at least Polly and I will have some alone time today. Maybe we can solidify a plan. I’m more than ready.
“Who is the guest, Sir?” I ask sweetly.
He swallows a sip of tea, and smiles. I brace myself for his response. “A very important young man. Someone I’ve been telling you about for some time now.”
“How lovely,” I say, feeling the urge to vomit. “When will he be arriving, Sir?”
“Tomorrow night. I’ve been waiting too long for him to accept that home is where he belongs. He’s finally accepting my offer.”
Home? This man must be related to Sir—a brother or maybe even a son.
“He must be very special to you, Sir.”
His eyes gleam. “Indeed. It’s taken some time to realize his value, but now I have great plans for him. For both of you, actually.”
I spear another piece of melon onto my fork. “Plans?”
His expression changes in a snap and I know I’ve pushed too hard. He clears his throat. “That’s enough questions, Bailey. Patience is a virtue.”
I bow my head, focusing on chewing the melon so I don’t get myself into more trouble.
Sir stands and smoothes out his pants. “I want you to look your absolute best tomorrow. Ms. Harrington will prepare something special for you to wear. First impressions are so important, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” I say.
He narrows his eyes. “Of course, Sir.”
“Yes, I apologize, Sir.” The simmering spark in my chest flickers from his annoyance.
He moves toward the door, calling for Polly to clear the table. My hand is midway across it, reaching for some toast, when I feel his presence behind me.
“Your behavior for the next twenty-four hours will determine your future. Do you understand?” His voice is low and seething as he snatches the plate of toast and throws it against the wall. I watch the porcelain china shatter into hundreds of pieces, horrified.
I force myself to remain seated, frozen like a prey animal caught in a snare. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“Good.” He focuses on straightening his hair and jacket.
“Because if you embarrass me in front of my guest, if you show even a hint of the defiance I’ve been seeing lately, there will be consequences.
” His gaze strays to Polly, who just entered from the kitchen, wide-eyed and afraid, and adds, “Not just for you.”
I blink, willing myself to stay steady. “I promise, Sir. I will be a good girl.”
His face softens while I cringe. For some reason he loves that phrase. I don’t think I could hate those two words more. “Good. Polly, clean this mess.”
She scrambles forward while he stalks from the room. It takes me a moment for my pulse to slow, for my limbs to move again, for me to release the breath I was holding. I hurry over to help pick up the scattered toast and large chunks of china.
“Did you hear?” I whisper.
Her eyes meet mine, and she nods solemnly. “Every word.”
We both know what this means. What tomorrow will bring.
We’re out of time. Tonight is our last chance.
After we finish cleaning, she leads me to the study. It’s time to make a plan, no matter the cost.
The kitchen knife feels heavier than I remember. Or maybe I’ve just grown weaker. Either way, I clutch it to my chest as we make our way down the dark hallway of the house. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if Polly can hear it.
She points past the kitchen. “The service door, back there.”
I’m trusting her. She’s gotten me this far without being spotted.
When we were in the study earlier, she filled me in on exactly how many guards Sir has working for him.
Many more than I’ve ever seen on my chaperoned walks.
With their stealth and knowledge of the grounds, I know the chance of us getting out of here is slim.
The memory of Cat and I dashing to the woods fills my mind. How close we came… before our hope came crashing down.
No. This time will be different. It has to be.
We’ve been planning this for hours, ever since Sir left this morning. Polly managed to block the camera in my cottage somehow, and with Ms. Harrington occupied, she was able to keep the door propped open. But coming back into the house is a risk, I’m trusting she knows what she’s doing.
“What about the cameras?” I ask.
“There’s a blind spot near the old groundskeeper’s shed behind the main house. We can make it to the tree line from there.”
“How do you know?” I whisper.
She squeezes my free hand. “I’ll tell you when we get out of here.” Her voice is solemn. Whatever it is, I doubt it’s a pleasant story.
My legs shake as we reach the door. This is it. After months of being the perfect prisoner. Of submitting to every demand that psycho made. One more step and maybe I’ll never have to step foot in this house again.
“Ready?” Polly asks, closing her hand around the brass handle.
I nod, gripping the knife tighter.
Cool night air hits my face, sobering me. We run.
Polly leads but I stay no more than a few steps behind. It’s so dark, I’m afraid I’ll trip on a rock or a divot in the grass, but we can’t afford to slow.
Behind us, the house grows farther away. Silent, but like a living presence. Like it’s watching.
A few more feet. I’m gasping for air, my body is not used to this much exercise.
Then, not thirty seconds later, every alarm on the estate starts screaming.
“Shit!” Polly gasps, grabbing my hand as floodlights blaze to life around us. We’re like rats trapped in a maze.
We sprint across the open lawn, not bothering to be stealthy now. Our feet pound against the damp grass. There’s shouting coming from somewhere. Not the main house, somewhere on the grounds.
“Polly?” I cry.
We’re so screwed.
“There!” She points to the dark tree line far ahead. “We can lose them in the woods!”
That’s what Cat thought too and look what happened.
I push those memories aside and let Polly pull me forward.
The alarm system is so loud, every fiber of my being wants to shrink into a ball. To hide until it stops.
We’re getting closer. The trees are no longer a blur of shadow.
But I stumble, sliding on a patch of wet grass. Polly hauls me up. “Come on, we’re almost there!”
In my dreams, the trees were this dark entity. Pulling me in, holding me hostage, painfully biting into my skin. But now, they’re my salvation. A chance to disappear into the growth.
I hear a voice, but it’s coming from a speaker or a radio. There’s no time to stop and see where exactly it is. “They’re closing in on the fence!”
“Fence?” I pant out, remembering the huge iron gate we passed through that first night.
“It’ll be okay,” she says.
We hit the edge of the tree line, away from the search lights. I want to double over, to catch my breath, but she keeps pulling me.
A few feet into the brush, the alarms cut out. It’s almost worse than the shrieking sound. Our voices, footsteps, even our heavy breaths, are completely exposed now.
Branches tear at my skin and I stumble again, relying on Polly’s strength to hold me up.