15. Derailed
Chapter 15
Derailed
Winnie
Morning comes after what feels like not a single minute of restful sleep. Did I fall asleep eventually after my brain and heart chased each other from one thought to the next? Sure. Probably. Maybe a little, but not near enough to execute the half-assed plan I came up with between tossing and turning.
Watery sunlight filters through the windows as if taunting me in my plush prison. Whatever sunlight and positive boost the weather is willing to give me today matters.
After showering, I dig through the wardrobe, carefully picking pieces made for movement. Leggings and a soft long sleeved shirt under a hoodie is the best I manage to come up with. I grab an extra hoodie, leggings, and a handful of socks.
Are my feet cold? No, not at all, but there are no shoes in my wardrobe. None. The strappy stilettos Garrick set out for me to wear to dinner have been removed. The shoes I wore graveside have disappeared.
My best guess is that it’s intentional. In theory, it makes it harder for me to run without shoes. Pffft, they don’t know me if they think that little detail will hold me down.
The door swings open as I finish pulling on my socks, admitting Garrick and his usual tray full of food. I shove the extra leggings under a throw pillow and lean back against it.
“Good morning, miss. I trust you slept well?” he asks, a brow hiked high as he notes the dark circles under my eyes. “Perhaps after breakfast, you’ll enjoy a nap.”
“That was the kindest You look like shit, Winnie I’ve ever heard.” I allow a smile to pull at my lips.
“I’m terribly sorry, miss. It was not my intent to offend?—”
My laugh cuts him off. “Sometimes the truth hurts; it’s totally fine.”
He sets the tray down and reaches for the silver cloche when I stall his actions this time.
“Do you think I could have breakfast with Tru? I missed her last night.” I need her close if there’s going to be any chance at all of my plan working.
He sets the silver dome back in place and straightens, adding, “I believe that can be arranged. Would you like to accompany me to her suite, or shall I bring her here?”
I burrow further into the corner of the settee and stifle a fake yawn. “Do you mind bringing her here?”
“Not at all. I’ll return shortly with Miss Cochonette.” He nods and steps out into the hall, the telltale scrape of the lock sliding into place punctuating his exit.
As soon as his footsteps fade away, I hop up and dart back to the bedroom to grab another hoodie for Tru. I tuck three pairs of socks in the front pocket; it’s all I have. I harbor no doubt that if we manage to get out of here, our feet will be torn up by the time we get even halfway through the woods.
When I return to the sitting room, Tru is there, standing in the center of the room with her hands tucked up in the sleeves of her soft pink cardigan. Her face is relaxed, her eyes clear. I haven’t seen her look this good in ages, and it bothers me that she seems better here. I don’t like it.
“Where’s Garrick?” I approach her slowly, keeping my tone light.
She turns to face me. “He w-went to get my b-b-breakfast.”
I don’t know exactly how much time that gives us, but I need to move fast so we’re ready to go.
“Here”—I hand her the hoodie bunched in my hand—“Put this on over your sweater. When Garrick gets back, we’re going to rush him and run.”
Her brows drop. “W-w-w-we’re w-w-what?” She struggles to set the words free, the sudden change of plans amping up her anxiety.
I reach into the floor lamp in the corner and unscrew the bulb, cracking the fragile glass into the huge blue and white vase that’s probably a priceless antique from another time and place. Sadly, it’s about the only thing available to try to knock someone out so we can run.
With the lightbulb socket tucked in the front pocket of my hoodie, I set the vase next to the door and turn to face Tru.
“Okay sweets, I need you to be strong for me. We have to work together and move fast, cool?” The timid nod is maybe the best I can hope for from her. “This isn’t going to be easy, but we have to try to get out of here.” I run down my plan, keeping things as simple and concise as I can so I don’t overwhelm her any more than necessary.
Eyes wide, she stammers, “B-b-b-but?—”
“No but s, Tru, we’ve got to go. You ready?”
She nods just as the lock slides, and the door swings open.
I heft the vase high and swing with everything I have, hitting Garrick hard enough that he goes down in a clatter of food and dishes. It’s louder than I thought it would be, but this is probably a poorly thought out plan at the very best.
“Tru, hand me those.” I point to where I set the leggings on the arm of the settee and, as efficiently as I can, tie the butler’s hands behind his back. It’s not great, but it’s going to have to do.
I peer out into the hallway. There’s not a soul in sight so I turn for Tru, finding her standing over Garrick with sadness pinching at her eyes.
“We need to go. Stick close to me and be as quiet as you can,” I whisper, grabbing her hand and pulling her along behind me.
With my head on a swivel, I lead her down the long hallway counting our lucky stars that no one is rushing to see what the crashing commotion was all about. Maybe the tray flying wasn’t near as loud as it seemed to me?
The French doors that lead out to the stone paved patio at the back of the house are mere steps away. I pause and whisper, “When we get through the doors, run like the devil is chasing you, Tru. Go straight for the woods and we’ll find our way home, got it?”
Her grip on my hand tightens and I can only hope that’s her silent understanding.
When I try to free my hand, she squeezes even harder.
“It’ll be okay, just let me get this door open and I’ll hold your hand while we run, I promise.” The last thing I want to do is release the makeshift weapon in my pocket but Tru is not letting up on her grip at all. “Tru, let go.” I twist to look at her and am met with an expression somewhere between adoration and fear.
Unease bubbles in my belly as I follow her line of sight only to find not one, but two tall, broad walls of pissed off men stalking toward us. And when she releases me, her hand slipping from mine, I want nothing more than to snatch it back.
I fumble with the lock on the French doors and push them wide. In a flail of hands that would be comical if our lives weren’t on the line, I finally grab hold of her hand and drag her outside with me.
Our feet no sooner hit the flagstones, than her hand is ripped from mine like she wasn’t even trying to stick with me. In fact, she’s standing on her own, turning toward Teague as if they’re magnets and she’s drawn to him.
“Tru!” Her name bursts from me full of panic.
She doesn’t spare me a glance until she’s locked within the prison of her captor’s arms. He lowers his lips to murmur something soft and lilting, a poem and a promise, against the shell of her ear. The soft smile she has for him battles with the pleading eyes she turns in my direction.
A battle rages inside me. Do I stay and try to drag her away from the man whose arms she willingly fell into? Or do I run, try to get myself to safety and then figure out how to come back for her?
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter.
Any decision is snatched away as Teague turns them and spirits her away from the growing tension.
A strong hand wraps around my wrist, holding me in place. In a burst of something I can’t even begin to name, I wrench my pitiful weapon from my pocket and slash it through the air toward Christophe, catching on his chest.
Bright red blooms, staining the front of his crisp white shirt. The blood spreads creating a work of abstract art on the pristine white canvas of fine linen. It would be beautiful if not for the fact that I likely just sealed my fate—or made it a whole lot worse.
Short, sharp breaths punctuate my wasted efforts to get free.
Christophe pulls me close, banding his arm around my lower back while maintaining hold of my wrist. I wriggle and strain, trying to put enough space between us to drive my knee into his crotch, but I can’t.
I lash out with my free hand, but he stops me again, grabbing that hand mid-strike and locking it behind my back with the other. There’s no way I can escape the hold he has on me.
Christophe wrenches the socket from my grip and tosses it away. “Didn’t know honeybees could sting,” he growls, swiping his hand through the crimson stain over the spot his heart should be because it’s obvious he no longer has one. He captures my jaw in his palm, smearing the blood down my neck until he finds my racing pulse. Then he squeezes.
Panic rips through me as I imagine him crushing the life out of me.
“Be careful, honeybee. You may have drawn blood first, but I promise you don’t want me to do the same to you. The blood I want to see, is blood you can’t afford.”
The words tumble from his lips in a haze as the edges of my vision pull in and the world goes dark.
Consciousness seeps back in as I’m laid gently on my bed. Christophe looms over me, fists planted firmly on the mattress to either side of my head.
“There she is,” he says as my eyes pop open. “What were you thinking, chéré ? Did you really think you could get away? That I wouldn’t see you? There are cameras?—”
“Everywhere, Garrick told me,” I croak. As soon as his name passes my lips I try to sit up only to fall back into the plush pillows when the cage of Christophe’s arms keep me from moving. “Garrick…is he okay?”
“Pissed off like a bear who got his paw stuck in the beehive, but he’ll be fine.” He stands to his full height putting space between us.
In a really weird turn of events, I find I don’t like it. How crazy is it that I felt safe, almost protected, with Christophe’s heat swirling around me?