Chapter 45
Lucy
Hours of nothingness float past as Heather and I sit on the floor in silence, waiting for salvation that may never come. A guard enters the room once to bring us water but no food. His eyes roam our bodies too much for my liking, so I heave a relieved sigh when he leaves without harassing us.
As more hours pass, my remaining hope starts to dwindle. Rescue was always a long shot, but with my past, I figured the universe owed me at least one favor. Wishful thinking. But while my optimism may be depleting, my will to survive holds strong.
I know one thing for certain. I’m not about to wait around for Marco to realize I lied about the wallet’s location.
If Heather and I expect to escape this predicament, we’ll need to assist ourselves.
Slowly, my eyes comb the room for anything—anything at all—that could help us. An object we can use as a weapon. An ancient landline, conveniently plugged in and hooked up. A magic portal would really come in handy right about now.
My shoulders droop. Besides a couple of empty boxes, cascading maroon curtains, and a vent tucked above a baseboard near the back corner, the room is bare. No furniture. No artwork. Either Marco emptied the space out before he abducted us, or he has yet to decorate.
My attention returns to the vent. I scoot across the floor for a closer inspection. A couple of spots on the metal appear sharp.
I strain my ears for any noises outside the door. The guard checked in on us a little bit ago, and the hall is quiet. I can’t tell exactly how much time has passed, but I’m guessing it’s late.
Spinning around to press my back to the wall, I rub the zip tie against the vent’s jagged edge. The first few awkward attempts result in the plastic slipping and the metal scraping my skin instead. I keep trying to cut the plastic and eventually find a clumsy rhythm.
Heather shifts, blinking against the artificial light. “What are you doing?”
“Getting us out of here.”
Her eyes widen. “How?”
I motion with my chin. “Come here.”
After she inches across the floor, I whisper the plan that’s forming in my head.
The scheme leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s not as if we’re drowning in options.
If we wait here until Marco discovers that I lied about the safety deposit box, I might as well snag one of his goons’ guns and finish myself off. Because I refuse to tumble back into Viktor Roguilin’s clutches.
I continue rubbing the zip tie against the metal, ignoring the painful stings from when I miss and chafe my skin. After what feels like an eternity later, the plastic finally snaps. “Okay. You ready?”
Heather’s rib cage lifts and falls in rapid succession. I squeeze her shoulders with my newly liberated hands. “Easy. Deep breaths.”
To my relief, though her body continues to tremble, her breathing gradually evens out. “I’m scared.”
“Me too. This is a frightening situation. But you can do this, okay?”
She chews on her lower lip before nodding. “Okay.”
“Good.” Freeing my wrists was the easy part. From here, our escape plan becomes more challenging…and far more dangerous. “You ready?” I ask again.
Uncertainty flashes across her face, and then her shoulders straighten. With a determined glint in her eyes, her next nod contains more conviction.
We head to the middle of the room and sit again. I hide my wrists behind my back to mimic Heather, whose wrists remain bound.
Only a few seconds pass before the door opens and we’re face-to-face with the head goon, a man with thick hair and several nicks through his dark eyebrows. He leers at us, and my stomach sinks when Heather cringes.
Shit. Maybe this is too much for her.
I’m kicking myself when Heather speaks. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
The guard grunts in reply, marching across the room. Grabbing Heather by the elbow, he hoists her to her feet. She sneaks one last glance at me before he escorts her out.
I remain motionless in my spot on the floor, a location I selected for the optimal hallway view. Hope sparks when I don’t see or hear any other guards in the immediate vicinity.
I wait for the door to shut and the lock to click before leaping to my feet. My blood pressure climbs as I race over to the boxes and carry them to the curtains. Once I finish, I study my handiwork. Not perfect by any stretch, but it will have to do.
Scurrying back across the room, I position myself behind the door. Several minutes pass, each one bringing a fresh swarm of doubts.
I must be out of my mind. There’s no way this will work. As Marco’s threat of playing with Heather and forcing me to watch resurfaces, fresh fear worms through my gut. I’m close to abandoning our scheme completely when Heather coughs in the hallway. Our signal.
Torn, I continue to waffle for so long that the choice is stolen from me.
When the doorknob rattles, I suck air into my collapsed lungs. My fingers curl around fabric.
The door flies open, and Heather stumbles into the room.
This is it.
Then the door starts to close again.
No! Our plan hinges on enticing the guard far enough inside.
For an instant, Heather’s panicked eyes meet mine. I’m sure we’re cooked when she shocks me by improvising. “Lucy, where are…why are you hiding behind the curtains?”
With a curse, the guard shoves into the room. I barely prevent the door from whacking me in the shoulder. “I swear, if you’re fucking around, you’re gonna be sorry. Get out of there.”
He directs his ire at the curtain, where I balanced the boxes on top of each other to displace the fabric from the wall. My shoes peep out from the bottom.
As the guard lunges forward, Heather whimpers loudly, providing cover for my movement.
It’s now or never.
In a surge of motion, I fling myself at him and wrap the curtain tieback around his throat, taking up the slack and twisting as tightly as possible. As hoped, the guard reflexively reaches for the cord with both hands. What we’re unprepared for is him stumbling backward and pinning me to the wall.
While I had the element of surprise, he’s a lot bulkier. Keeping the cord taut requires every ounce of my strength and attention, especially with him bucking against me like a wild boar.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold on, and it’s only a matter of moments before he remembers to reach for his gun. If Heather doesn’t help—
He jerks to the right and almost goes down. Heather’s foot lashes out once more, striking him in the same knee as before.
Relief swells, and my hands relax as I start to move again.
Big mistake. The guard whips his head back, bashing his skull into the side of my face.
Pain starbursts in my cheekbone. My grip slackens even more, granting him enough room to dig his fingers beneath the cord.
He yanks and lurches forward, dragging me with him and knocking me off balance.
His beefy arm wraps around my neck. Even though I know it’s futile, I struggle.
Despair floods through me. That’s it. We screwed up our best chance.
Crack. The guard’s body jolts. After a second crack, he crumples.
Heather clutches him, staggering beneath his weight. “A little help here,” she wheezes.
I grab beneath his arms and together, we lower him to the floor. Blood trickles onto the wood from the gash in his skull.
Heather peers at him, the gun she snagged still gripped in her right hand. “Is he dead?”
A dark part of me hopes so. Though from the pallor of Heather’s face, I doubt she agrees, so I guess it’s a blessing of sorts that his chest continues moving. “No. You just knocked him out.”
Her lips quiver. “Okay.”
I study her. “How did you get his gun? Your zip ties…”
“While I was in the bathroom, I took a chance and used this technique I once saw on YouTube to break them. Then I held my hands together like they were still intact and hoped he wouldn’t notice.”
Self-preservation steers my brain away from all the ways that could have gone wrong. “Smart thinking,” I say instead. “Now, let’s tie him up and gag him so we can get the hell out of here.”
Once we restrain him to the best of our ability using both curtain cords and the bra I sacrifice to create a makeshift gag, we creep to the door and listen.
All quiet. No one’s sounding the alarm. No shouting.
I close my eyes and shudder. Maybe luck really is on our side.
Fear wars with courage as I brave a peek into the hallway. Nothing as far as the eye can see. I jerk my chin at the weapon in Heather’s hand. “Do you think you’ll be able to use that?”
She stares at the gun as if she forgot she even had it. “I don’t know. Will you be able to—”
“Yes.” I pluck the gun from her grip. If it’s us versus them, I’ll pull that trigger in a heartbeat.
With me in the lead, we edge into the corridor.
“Do you know how to get out?” Heather whispers. “I was too scared to notice anything.”
I’m glad I paid attention to the floor plan on the way in. “I think so.”
Carpet muffles our steps as I retrace my original path, pausing every so often to listen. The nerves writhing in my stomach compound the closer we get to the front door.
We’re maybe halfway to salvation when muted shouts from different parts of the sprawling house erupt.
The commotion distracts me so much that I don’t realize someone snuck up behind us until Heather screams.
Gun extended, I whirl and sprint back into the hall.
I skid into the corridor as the guard throws Heather against the wall. He yanks out his gun and points the barrel at me.
The blood freezes in my veins.
Shit. Someone clearly didn’t get Viktor’s memo.
My finger jerks, and I pull the trigger multiple times, in rapid succession.
Red blossoms on the man’s face and shirt before he wobbles and collapses to the floor.
I race for Heather, who’s cowering against the wall. “Are you okay?”
Before she can reply, another guard pops into view. “Drop your gun, or she’s dead.” He points his weapon directly at Heather’s head.
I consider my options, realize they all suck, and slowly lower the gun.
The guttural roar of a man’s voice barrels down the hallway from behind me. “Lucy, get down!”
Bullets whiz by, the nearest sluicing just over my head as my body instinctively obeys the order and drops to the ground.
The guard spits out a pained grunt. His gun hits the carpet.
I forget how to breathe. That voice…surely it couldn’t be…
Time slows when a figure dives through my periphery and sprints forward. The faint scent of cedar and vanilla permeates the air.
Callum!
He darts past me, firing his outstretched gun.
Another bullet nails the guard in the shoulder and chest. The man staggers back three steps before falling.
Callum’s rough hand cuffs my wrist, ripping me into motion so fast I nearly stumble.
Strangled noises emit from my clogged throat. “Callum—”
“Not now.” He pulls me past the downed guard to Heather, who’s slouched against the wall, trembling. He hooks a hand under her armpit, lifts her up, and then gives her a quick glance and a nod. Then he shifts to me, green eyes glittering with rage. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m okay—”
He yanks me close, nose against my hair.
I breathe in his scent. He’s here.
Before I can return his embrace, he pushes me away. “Get your friend out of here. Do you know the way out?”
I clutch his sleeve, still processing that he’s here. He’s here. “I do, but…but what about you?”
His eyes burn into mine. “I need to take care of Benetti. Darren and Veronika are on their way.”
The lump in my throat grows. I can’t just leave, not when he came for me.
A shout echoes down the hallway. “He’s this way!”
“You two cut through the den and double back.” Even though it feels like the three of us pitted against a small army, Callum’s calm order anchors me.
“Callum—”
He fires at this new assailant, nailing the man in the chest. The guard crumples.
Callum spins toward me, eyes blazing into my soul. “Everything you heard me say earlier was a lie. There is nothing pretend about what I feel for you.”
Tears prickle against my eyes.
Heather tenses at my side as voices draw closer.
“Get out of here! Go!” Callum picks up the dead guard’s gun and shoves it into his waistband.
After one last glance to drink in his face, I leave my heart in the hall with Callum while Heather and I sprint right into the living room.
He came for us. Came for me.
Told me he lied.
How am I supposed to focus on escaping given these new revelations?
The foyer’s right there, the front door just around the corner. If we run, we might actually make it out. Heather grabs my hand as we race through the den.
Behind us, shots ring out.
Callum.
My feet skid to a halt. Heather swivels back, eyes wide.
“Lucy?”
I shake my head. “You go ahead.” I can’t just abandon him. I won’t.
More yells spill from the hallway.
My heart lurches.
All the men around us are trading fire, but we can’t see who’s winning or losing. Callum must be squaring off with at least three guards.
Heather squeezes my hand. “Lucy, come on. We really—”
To our right, a vase shatters, causing us both to jump.
“No one’s going anywhere.”
The sinister voice sucks all the air out of the room.
Marco Benetti stands at the end of his palatial living room, anger carved into his features.
He strides toward us with his gun trained on me, but I barely notice him.
Behind him, the monster from my past materializes, his mouth tipping up into a delighted smile when his dark gaze settles on me.
“Sweet Lucy. I’ve missed you.”
The smooth tenor of Viktor Roguilin’s voice plunges me back into a nightmare. The fervor in his brown eyes hasn’t dimmed at all in my absence.
“How…you can’t be here. You’re supposed to be in prison until the trial.”
He smirks. “Didn’t anyone tell you? The judge changed his mind about holding me without bail.”
An image of the missed calls and texts from the DA flash through my head, and panic locks my muscles. Horror claws at my bones.
This is it. I’ll never leave here alive now.