SIXTY-FOUR
Gigi
I squeak in fright as Harry races to the bars and tightens his grip around them, rattling them until they’re bashing against their hinges.
“What the hell?” he growls.
The light from the stray bulb above us flickers, and I squint my eyes as I watch it, quickly looking around the room. The sound of metal on metal is grating as Harry shakes the bars with all his might.
“You set me up!” he roars.
Before I can even spit out defences he’s striding towards me. I suddenly know where the source of trickling water is coming from as I press my back to the wall, feeling a rush of cold liquid soaking my shoulder blades, coating me in the vile smell.
“I-I swear I didn’t,” I croak. “I’d choose something far prettier than a dungeon.”
His nostrils flare, eyes boring into me like he’s trying to extract the answers right from my soul. When he discovers nothing he huffs and turns away.
Regaining my composure, I straighten my shoulders, banishing the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Harry falls back against the single bed with a heavy exhale, shutting his eyes as if he’s ready to drift off for a nap.
“Where am I going to sleep? ”
He shrugs. “I don’t care.”
“Well, you can’t share the bed with me,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
His hands are behind his head, eyes closed. “I’m not a gentleman, princess. I tried that last time. Didn’t work. If you want to sleep on the floor with the rats, be my guest.”
My voice wobbles. “There’s rats?”
His lips turn up at the corners in a smirk. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“ Help ,” I plead, my voice lacking conviction. “Anyone?”
It’s been hours.
Torturous, torturous hours.
“No one is coming for us tonight,” Harry says, his voice echoing across the small space.
Our phones don’t work down here. The guards on standby have been instructed not to suspect anything untoward until at least twenty-four hours have passed with no communication, and it hasn’t been anywhere near that yet. We can’t use the communication device hidden inside Harry’s suit jacket. While that would allow us to alert the pickup truck nearby, if the signal reached and we didn’t make it to the vehicle within the designated three minutes, they’d storm the place with gunfire. Having the team come crashing through the front doors is not a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve been so distracted I almost forgot I was running this job, but I am. And I’m not ready to call defeat yet.
We simply have no other option than to just sit here and wait it out.
“Is anyone there?” I repeat, banging my forehead against the cold metal and keeping it there. “He’ll kill me if you don’t let me out. I’m too pretty to die.”
I hear the smirk in Harry’s voice. “Now, that might be true.”
I don’t ask him to clarify which part.
Whether I like it or not, we’re stuck in this makeshift dungeon for who knows how long. The metal is cool against my head, briefly distracting me from the rotting stench. The floor is too dirty to consider sleeping there, and by the looks of things, Harry isn’t planning on it either. I thought he’d be jumping at the opportunity after what happened in the motel room, but alas, he’s showing no interest, sprawled out on the mattress, legs crossed, flicking his dagger above him and catching it by the handle every time.
“What do you think they’re going to do with us?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the knife.
The action is gruelling, attractive, and screws my common sense. I trudge over to him, snatching the knife mid-air on his latest throw.
“Hmm.” I turn the dagger back and forth. “Pretty.” I hand the weapon out to him with my palm up, purposely leaning the upper half of my body over his torso. “Like me.”
This is safe.
This is protection.
In the moment of distraction, memories of the last time Harry and I spent a night together come rushing to the forefront of my brain. It seems he also remembers as his fingers brush my cheek.
His voice drops dangerously low. “I remember the last time we spent a night together … like this.”
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly.
His hand moves down my jaw to the back of my neck, enticing me in slowly. Drawing our mouths closer, my lips part as I feel his hot, minty breath drifting across my face.
“And it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. ”
My eyes fly open. He grips both of my hips tightly in his hands and throws me over the bed, onto the dirty stone on the other side. I land with a huff, and when something squeaks, running parallel to the wall, I scream and kick my feet.
Harry’s laugh rumbles throughout the small space, but I’m too angry to see the beauty in the sound. It’s dark, but my imagination doesn’t have to stretch far to consider what might squeal like that. Getting to my feet with an unpleasant huff, I smooth out the creases in my dress and approach Harry’s side, attempting to lie down on the mattress.
His body stills. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get comfy.”
“Well, don’t.”
It’s a struggle, with his unnecessarily large body, but I manage to squeeze onto the right side of the mattress, a fraction away from falling back onto the floor. Harry’s long limbs dig into my back, and I hiss as they press against the base of my spine.
I crane my head to look at him over my shoulder. “Can you try moving over a bit?”
His hands are back behind his head as they were earlier, a smug look on his face as he stares up at the ceiling. “Nope.”
Releasing a grunt, I turn and face the opposite wall again, trying to get comfortable. I toss and turn. Harry doesn’t move an inch. At only one point does he creep an eye open to watch as I move my body around.
The Glock is uncomfortable against my thigh, but I don’t trust disarming myself while we’re locked underground in a cellar. When I finally think I’m comfy, I sigh at the dull ache of my gun and turn over again. I draw my head back when I see an angry scowl burning down at me.
“Stop moving,” Harry insists. “It’s putting me on edge.”
“Worried I’ll stab you in the back? ”
This is safe.
This is …
This is wrong.
Harry’s face falls as if I just ignited a sour memory.
He sighs and turns his back to me. “Not tonight, Gigi.”
His tone makes a beeline for my fractured heart, forcing me to ask, “Was it something I said?”
He doesn’t reply.
I sigh and lie back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Was this how Jack felt when he lost his grip on humanity? Because right now I just feel numb. It poses the question of whether people really do fear me as I want them to or whether they think I’m pathetic. Maybe both. Maybe I’ve slipped so far under I can’t sense anything other than desperation. Pathetic. I’m just pathetic.
My head starts to spin, and no matter how much I push at the emotions, hoping to keep them at bay and protect myself, I can’t help myself.
My lips start to move, and before I know it, I’m allowing Harry a raw glimpse into my aching heart. “The thing with Andy … I’m so, so sorry …”
Silence.
“Harry?”
More quiet follows.
He’s asleep.
Condensation gathers on the ceiling directly above our heads, and slightly off-centre is a lone water droplet, ready to break the mould and fall free from the rest. God, I feel like that stupid fucking raindrop, daring to break.
I’m not sure why I choose now, with the comfort of his body next to me but without the worry of him hearing, to lower the walls I’ve built to conceal my emotions. The tears are gathering in my waterline before I even start to speak .
“No matter what you think, nothing happened,” I say, my voice low. “You never deserved that. You deserve so much better. Someone who doesn’t push you to the brink of insanity. Someone who isn’t me.”
Harry’s body momentarily stiffens, and I freeze. He releases a long exhale, signalling that he’s asleep. With a sigh of relief, I turn back to the dirty ceiling.
It isn’t long before my body succumbs to sleep. Not a deep one. Between the tightness of the bed and Harry’s obscenely long limbs, it’s difficult to truly rest. After an hour of interrupted shuteye, I feel a noticeable shift as Jack’s presence creeps in.
Eyes heavy with tiredness, I can see Jack as if he’s here before me. He’s leaning up against the wall by the entrance to the cellar, watching down on me with a heavy look in his brown eyes that mirrors our mother’s. He appears far from the nagging, relentless figure that’s riddled me sick for months. Instead his expression softens.
I sit up in the bed, mindful of waking Harry. My eyes burn hot from the tears that flooded them just hours ago, and I rub them tiredly. “Now I’m imagining you in real life too. Aren’t my dreams enough torment?”
He says nothing.
Silence stretches between us. The only sound comes from the dripping water and the odd exhale from Harry’s chest.
A question hammers at me, and with each second that passes I find the words struggling to remain in my throat.
“Are you embarrassed of me?” I ask, feeling the weight of his answer heavier than ever before.
He cocks his head slowly.
This is the time I should feel his harsh judgement. I imagine it’ll be particularly aggressive today with my conflicted emotions. But he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t say anything, actually.
“Well?” I press .
I await his response … but it doesn’t come.
Reality hits me in the silence, and the back of my neck pricks with realisation.
I don’t need his approval. I never did. He’s only a figment of my imagination. Someone to remind me about the importance of sanity. A saving grace, if you will.
I’ve selfishly let his words in for days, weeks, now. Even when I’m not sleeping. I’ve numbly been accepting the fact I’m a bad person. I’m not an asset to the Circle no matter how much I try to deny it. I’m far from it.
“I don’t need to hear you say it anymore,” I clarify, speaking it aloud to render the words true. “You’re embarrassed of me. I get it. The words have hit home enough.”
He’s silent still.
My driving need for approval required his opinion and brought it to the forefront of my brain. But I don’t ache for redemption anymore.
A droplet falls from the ceiling, and I wipe it away.
But I still have a role to fulfil – something that could change my destiny.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Thank you for bringing me back.”
A soft object bounces off my head, and I groan, digging my head further into the crusty pillow.
“Five more minutes …”
“Up.”
My blissful dream gives way to a smelly little dungeon, and my eyes shoot open as I remember where I am. Sitting back on my elbows, Harry stands across the room with an unamused look on his face. I rub my eyes against my shoulders to clear my vision. They sting with the motion. Swinging my legs over the bed next, I stretch my arms above my head and sigh at the satisfying crack.
“No time for yoga, princess,” Harry says.
My eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of my head as he swings the gate open with ease. I rush to my feet and over to the bars, watching the steps to freedom warily.
“It could be a trap,” I say.
“Surely, it can’t be worse than being stuck down here with you.” Moving towards the front step, he says, “Let’s go—”
I grab the back of his jacket. “Wait!”
He turns to me. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”
“Uhh … yeah … I just …”
He lifts a brow.
I shake my head of the wandering thought, exhaling a breath. “Let’s go.”
I’m on edge as Harry leads me up the stairs and down the hallway. We can’t have been let out as easily as this. Those crafty Italians don’t do things by halves, so the only reasonable explanation is that the electricity must have tripped overnight.
They shouldn’t – wouldn’t – have let us out so early.
The mansion is quiet and lacking in life this morning. If it weren’t for the maids, I’d expect to see an abundance of empty champagne glasses and beer bottles littering the floor. But of course, it’s squeaky-clean.
Staying close to the walls, Harry and I keep an eye out for any activity. But the house is eerily quiet.
When we reach the first floor he gestures to one of the unoccupied bedrooms. “In here.”.
The large balcony windows are ajar, giving way to a short platform. Light shines through, decorating the old-fashioned room with sunspots. A four-poster bed sits in the centre, and the room is decorated with yellow-and-gold furnishings.
Harry and I approach the open window, and he pulls it towards him, allowing him just enough space to slip into the crevice between inside and out. A black pipe descends the side of the brick building, starting from the roof and leading to the ground. If we were to attach ourselves to it somehow and use it as leverage, it would be the perfect escape route.
“Come out with your hands up!” a voice roars through the bedroom door. “We know you’re in there.”
This is it.
Harry steps onto the outside window ledge, holding out his arms for balance in a hurry to escape unscathed.
I can feel the anxiety creeping in.
This needs to go smoothly.
And while I’d like to admit that in my increasing fear I hope he doesn’t fall down the side of the building to his immediate death, it isn’t that.
Harry parts his feet on the ledge, keeping his balance steady as he stands on the tips of his shoes.
A little bit closer …
He clasps onto the pipe with his palm.
“All right. Grab onto me—” Harry starts to turn.
Now!
I slip the handcuffs from my pocket, capturing his wrist in one cuff and the pipe in the other. Reaching around his body, I press the emergency button hidden in the inner lining of his suit.
It’s kind of fascinating when you can watch the effects of your own actions unfolding right in front of your eyes. In this instance, Harry’s immediate response is confusion.
I smile. “You have less than three minutes. ”
The emergency signal will alert the pickup to his impending arrival. He’ll have less than three minutes to get into the getaway vehicle before rousing suspicion, causing them to storm the place with an array of deadly weapons and high-powered explosives.
Descending the building will take at least a minute.
And no matter how angry he’ll be with my decision, he’s not stupid enough to let them come charging into this property with all guns blazing. We wouldn’t last two seconds against the Italians.
Trust me , I know their arsenal.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks, his voice wavering.
“It didn’t take much for me to unpick the cuffs from around that crappy little bed.” I pat the spot on my head. “My trusty bobby pin never lets me down.”
“Gigi!” he shouts, his features morphing into anger.
“I can’t go with you.”
“What? Why the fuck not?”
He’s about to find out I’ve been keeping a secret. If not now, then very shortly. How hypocritical of me. And it’s not just any little white lie.
People really shouldn’t have made the mistake of undermining me.
“You’re wasting time,” I say.
Harry needs to leave now. If I stand here too long, I risk letting him convince me to turn and run with him. I’m trying to be brave. Trying not to picture the betrayal that must be sitting in his chest.
I’m not sure when I finally surrendered to my feelings for him. Maybe it was the kiss that sweetened the deal, or perhaps it was how defeated he sounded afterwards.
I turn my back to him, headed for the door. Commotion picks up outside, forcing me to shout, “I’m coming out. Don’t shoot!”
Harry’s chest grumbles with his desperation to get free, utter frustration clawing at his throat as my hand hovers over the handle.
“Don’t be the hero!” he shouts.
“Trust me, I’m not.”
He bashes hard against the cuffs, finally giving up in defeat.
“Come back! You want to face them? Fine. We’ll do this together.” His voice cracks. “Please.”
His utter desperation almost breaks through my composure, tempting me to turn around.
Almost.
“Together,” I say, training my focus on the door, “ended a long time ago.”