Chapter 26 PRISON BREAK
My happiness dims the moment I return to the house.
Elias leans against the foyer wall, which is strange to begin with. The man usually barricades himself inside his office.
Is he waiting for me?
My heart trembles like it’s excited.
You’re nuts, Lana. Nothing good can come from the Shadow King waiting for you. We are not excited about him. At all.
He hums under his breath, one hand holding a crimson book, the other playing with his damn lighter again. He stills, appearing to be completely engrossed in his reading.
The man isn’t a fast reader, judging by how quickly he turns the pages. His finger trails over the paper. He studies the text like he’s trying to memorize it. Or peel apart the words and find the hidden meaning underneath.
Who knows? I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s probably memorizing for fun, the unhinged monster.
Click. Click. Click.
A muscle twitches in his cheek—a ghost of a smile. What is he reading?
I hate how the afternoon light drapes over his towering frame, how put together he is in his crisp white shirt, perfectly fitted double-breasted vest—a stunning forest green color this time—and gray dress pants.
“Careful there. All that ogling and I might think you’re in love with me,” he says, his obsidian hair glinting under the pendant light. He snaps his book shut.
“Stop copying me.”
“I didn’t do anything.” He smirks.
“I said that in the library…and yes, I still remember my temporary lapse of judgment.” My face warms. “You don’t have to worry. You’re the last person I’ll ever fall in love with.”
He stares at his lighter for a beat, slowly sliding it into his pocket.
When he looks up, those green eyes are cold as ice.
“Had a fun outing?” he asks.
“Why does it matter to you? You’re my husband in name only.”
His voice drops. “Do you want it not to be in name only?”
He steps closer, each step shrinking the room. A current runs through my body.
Fight or flight.
“Is that what you want, Lana?”
He closes the distance. Space ceases to exist.
“N-No.” I back up until I hit the door. “You’re ridiculous.”
Slowly, Elias brings his hands up, caging me in. My breath stutters as I look up at him.
“I seem to recall someone being enthusiastic that night in the library. Or in the kitchen. Or in my office. Moving on my cock like you were desperate.” Body slowly pressing against mine, just a graze, a taunt, he murmurs, “Three times, Lana. Is that it? Is my wife lonely and horny? Am I not doing my husbandly duties?”
Heat flares through me at his words and the dark promise in his eyes.
My mouth dries. I wet my lips, and his gaze drops to the movement. A rough sound rumbles in his throat.
An ache flares between my legs.
What’s wrong with me? He’s the enemy.
A shadow encroaches on his irises like mist rolling in on a winter night.
Every part of him stills.
A predator lying in wait.
My hands move before my mind registers. I touch him—graze the silk emerald tie under his vest, feeling the sturdy muscles rippling underneath his shirt.
“That’s it, wife,” he rasps, leaning down, his lips hovering an inch from mine.
“Pupils dilated. Pulse beating madly in your throat. The flush…beautiful pink flush. You want me, the man you hate, don’t you?
Is this what you dream about late at night, your body hot, aching, your soft skin rubbing against the sheets? ”
A moan perches on the tip of my tongue. I’m hot. Burning.
I dig my body into the wall, fighting my basest impulse to arch up, to sample those perfectly curved lips.
To bury myself in his darkness.
The thought snaps me, just barely, out of his spell.
“You wish, asshole! You have no place in my dreams.”
He releases me with a low chuckle. “Dreams. Nightmares are probably more apt.”
His eyes dim—sadness, but that can’t be right. He strides toward his office. I follow, my control clearly nonexistent.
“Why are you talking to me suddenly? Were you waiting for me?”
He looks over his shoulder. “I’m leaving next week. Ren also has things to take care of. You are not to leave this house in my absence.”
“No way. I’m not doing this again. It’s bad enough I’m married to you. I won’t be chained here like I’m in jail.”
“You’ll do as I say. For your own good.” He stalks off.
My jaw drops. Oh no, you don’t. I chase after him, but his strides are too quick. He slams the office door in my face.
I bang on it with my fist.
“Elias Kent, you open the door this instant! You need to get something straight. We’re in this arrangement because you and your cronies need something from me. I’m doing you all a favor. Not the other way around.”
He doesn’t answer. I only hear that aggravating lighter. Click, click, click.
It’s been six days since he disappeared to God-knows-where.
Six days of pacing this mausoleum of a mansion, going through each unlocked room like a bored ghost. Six days of trying new lock-breaking exercises to break into the impenetrable room on the third floor.
Six days of Hannah trying to convince me Elias is a good man because he took her in ten years ago as she was about to be evicted from her apartment with two young grandkids to feed.
Her daughter died in a car accident, and the deadbeat father was nowhere to be seen.
I have to admit, the thought of Elias helping sweet Hannah out brings a smile to my face.
But then I remember he’s Elias Kent.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he singled her out because of her superior cooking skills.
Scrunching my nose, I peek through the curtains of my bedroom and spot the black sedan in its usual spot across the street. Snowflakes fall from the sky.
The government car.
For the past six days, that sedan has been parked out there every single day. Exhaust puffs into the air. A shadow of someone sits inside.
It’s strange.
This morning I texted Emerson a photo of the car and its plate.
He replied, These are government plates. Different from the car that followed you in New York City. Do you need me to look further?
I told him no. But the message lingers.
Are they tailing me, or following Ren? Why would the government follow me? Who was following me in New York?
I think back to my brush with death outside the café. Ren’s worried face when he spotted the car.
Chewing my lip, I eye the stack of romances on my nightstand. I can spend my time with hot dudes with chiseled chests who can growl like nobody’s business, or I can act on the madcap idea I came up with two days ago when I saw the mysterious car yet again.
The house is quiet. Really quiet. Not the watchful silence of my imprisonment, with the prickly sensation of someone—the cameras or Hannah—watching my every move.
Elias is coming back tomorrow. Ren has disappeared, and Hannah, last I checked, has Sinatra crooning from her phone while she prepares a feast for tonight.
This is my chance to get answers.
It’s a huge risk to do what I’m about to do. If The Association finds out, they’ll kill me or my family.
But I’ve never been the passive type. I can’t wait for someone to rescue me.
And with the opportunity in my face, I have to trust my gut.
My gaze darts to the camera closest to me. No blinking red light.
My asshole husband probably thinks I’ve given up searching for answers. Maybe he thinks I’m too chicken to do more.
A slow smile tugs at my lips.
Oops, Shadow King.
Seems you’ve underestimated your good little wife.
I glance at the clock, its second hand ticking, reminding me I’m running out of time before my jailer returns.
Time to take a risk.
“Meow,” Cece voices her concern.
“I’ll be fine. Be good. I’ll be back soon.” I set her on the windowsill, her favorite spot.
Carefully, I pull on my down jacket and traipse down the stairs.
I unlock the front door. The click is soft, but it echoes in the marble foyer. I hold my breath, gaze snapping around. No one comes, and I slip out.
The sky is overcast, a light mist shrouding the air. The weather may be freezing, but it’s on my side.
One good thing about being trapped indoors and being bored out of my mind is I’ve observed the guards and their routines, written down their schedules.
Yesterday, I spent the whole day haunting the window, noting every lap, tracking cigarette and cell phone breaks.
There’s a small window now—one precise minute—where one guard walks toward the backyard pool, the other circling the perimeter. Their patrols run the same way throughout the day. I timed it. A precise pattern. If I don’t go now, I won’t go at all.
I dart along the fence, boots clomping on thick snow.
The tall evergreen trees screen me from the main lawn.
Branches scratch my calves, and I hiss in pain.
Quickly, I make it to the front, but I don’t take the main gate where the guard tower is.
Instead, I slip toward the smaller door the gardeners use.
Voices travel to my ears. I duck behind a hedge, heart beating out of my chest.
Shit. I glance through the small gap between the leaves and the pockets of snow. They finished their patrol sooner.
Or I was too slow.
The man speaks into his walkie-talkie, his gaze sharp. He turns his head in my direction.
I curl into a ball and hold myself still. The sharp twigs dig deep into my flesh.
Please don’t see me.
A few seconds pass, then I hear his footsteps as he walks out of view.
Blowing out a breath, I tiptoe to the small door, fish out a hairpin, and fiddle with the lock.
Click. It opens.
I slip onto the quiet street, scan left and right. No neighbors. No guards.
I dash toward the sedan.
Then the door opens before I reach it.
A striking man steps out. Gray wool coat. Black tie. Sleek gray suit. Espresso-brown hair, short on the sides, longer on top, perfectly tamed. Intelligent brown eyes behind black-framed glasses.
“Ms. Anderson,” he says. “Finally, we meet.”
“Who are you, and why have you been following me?” Adrenaline spikes and my pulse riots.
He smiles, draws a black wallet from inside his jacket, and flips it open. “Special Agent Tristan Clarke, FBI, Criminal Investigative Division, at your service. We need to talk. Time is of the essence, and your life is in danger. Will you come with me?”
Indecision wobbles inside me. Something pinches my gut. I glance back at the looming mansion—my prison—and think about the enigmatic man who is my husband in name.
Why am I waffling? Why do I feel loyal to Elias? He’s a criminal.
Remember the vault. The people he killed. The gun he pressed against your head.
I’m losing my mind.
Drawing a quick breath, I slide into the backseat. “Don’t make me regret this, Special Agent.”