19. Emma #4
I press the button again, but nothing happens. Mel has no idea why I called, that I’m leaving, or that Dante is involved. I should find another phone, go back to the kitchen, use the landline…anything. I need to tell someone where I’m going before I walk out that door.
Then I hear Vanessa moving around in Alex’s bedroom and every instinct in me screams to get out before Alex comes back, before Frank appears, before another person decides I need to remain exactly where I have been put.
I can call Mel from Liam’s.
I don’t take much.
Bee, protesting loudly the second I scoop her up.
My wallet. The folder with my documents.
Identification.
Paperwork I cannot replace easily.
I consider the carrier.
No.
Too obvious.
Too bulky.
Frank would stop me before I reached the lobby.
I leave the suitcase.
I leave the clothes he bought me, the shoes, all of it, because none of it was ever really mine to keep.
Bee struggles in my arms.
“I don’t like this either.”
She yowls.
I take the elevator down.
Somewhere behind me I can hear Vanessa moving around in Alex’s room, humming something under her breath, and I don’t stop to say a single word to her on my way out.
She does not deserve my anger.
None of this is her fault.
If Alex wants to tell her what kind of marriage he has offered her, he can do it himself.
I almost make it across the lobby clean.
It is busier than I expected, enough people moving through the space that for a few seconds I believe I can simply become one of them.
A bellhop catches my eye near the doors, already moving toward me with a helpful look on his face.
“Ma’am, can I help you with anything?”
“My cat’s not feeling well.” The lie comes easier than it should. “Just running her down to the car to get her to the vet.”
As if she understands her role, Bee lets out a miserable howl and twists against my chest.
The bellhop looks at her. Concern replaces suspicion immediately. “Do you want us to bring the car around?”
“No, thank you. It’s already waiting out back.”
“The garage entrance is?—”
“I know. The driver couldn’t get through the front with traffic. He’s at the employee entrance.”
He nods, already losing interest, and lets me pass without another word.
“Hope she feels better.”
“Thank you.”
The service corridor feels much longer than it did the last time I used it.
My heart does not slow until the door shuts behind me.
The back alley is quieter than I expect, quieter than it should be, empty enough that the hair rises on the back of my neck before my mind catches up to why.
Bee squirms against my chest, complaining loud enough that I have to shift my grip, and I tell myself Dante said ten minutes, maybe I’m just early, maybe his people haven’t arrived yet.
Then I see him.
Someone I recognize.
Someone from Alex’s team, a face I’ve clocked a dozen times in the lobby, at the gym, standing at Frank’s shoulder during a briefing I wasn’t supposed to overhear.
I’ve barely made it out of the building and Alex’s people have already found me.
For one stupid second, I wonder whether Dante’s men will get here before I have to invent another excuse. Maybe they can distract this man long enough for me to leave. Fight him off if necessary.
I almost hope they do.
Then the man turns and our eyes meet.
He does not ask what I’m doing or where I’m going. He comes straight at me.
I stumble backward, my shoulder slamming into a dumpster hard enough to jar my teeth. Every instinct I have spent ten years learning starts screaming the same thing.
Run.
I barely get the thought out before something drops over my head and the world goes black.
I scream or try to, but the bag prevents it. Bee shrieks and tears free of my arms. Her claws rip across my wrist as she launches herself away. My wallet hits the concrete. The folder follows, papers sliding loose and scattering beneath my feet.
An arm hooks around my waist and hauls me back. I drive my heel down, throw an elbow, hear someone curse.
“Get her in the car.”
The voice hits me harder than the grip.
I know that voice.
One of Alex’s men.
My stomach drops. I try to scream, but a hand clamps over the fabric covering my mouth and muffles the sound.
I fight harder, using everything I know, heel, elbow, drop my weight, twist, but my body is already starting to betray me.
My arms feel wrong. Heavy. Slow. My knees buckle when I try to plant my feet, and the pavement seems to tilt beneath me.Bee is somewhere nearby making a sound I have never heard from her before, a frantic, terrible yowl that cuts through everything.
Then my shoulder strikes metal. Hands grab beneath my arms.
A trunk.
No.
I wrench against the arms holding me hard enough to send pain through my neck. “Hold her.”
Something presses over my face through the fabric, and panic tears through me. I clamp my mouth shut and try not to breathe, but my lungs win. The alley tips sideways. My legs stop holding me, and the ground vanishes as someone lifts me.
The last thing I feel is an arm crushing around my middle.
The last thing I hear is Bee screaming.
Then nothing.