Sara
When I wake up the next morning to find that I’m still wearing the ring, my anger immediately resurfaces.
The certifiable jackass.
That conceited asshole.
The little sleep I managed last night was filled with dreams of walking down the aisle and babies with chocolate brown hair and eyes as deep as wishing wells.
I call them dreams, but considering the circumstances, maybe nightmares are more accurate.
I tear through my prison, snatching up all the items he’s given me over the last few weeks.
The comforter, the clothes folded neatly in a corner, the collar, the fucking pearl-lined leash.
I toss everything at the cell door, but that’s not good enough. Shouldn’t Gregor or even Angela have stopped by with breakfast by now? I want this stuff out of here. I march over to the door, prepared to shout until my yowling summons Gregor.
The second my fingers graze the handle, the cell door creaks open, and my protests die in my throat with a squeak.
A sickening blend of hope and fear assaults my senses, leaving me dizzy.
At first, I’m convinced he abandoned me again as punishment for my actions, and panic steals my breath.
Overhead, floorboards creak, a door slams, and muffled voices trickle to my ears.
Proof of life on the next level. Then realization barrels into me.
I never heard the locks engage last night.
He forgot to lock me in.
I push on the heavy steel and cautiously peer out.
Nothing. I eye the distance to the elevator. I could ride to the main floor, race out the front door, and run the three blocks to the Grand Army Plaza subway station.
That would be the smart thing to do.
Unfortunately, smart left the building a long time ago.
Easing the door open, I creep away from the cell. Now, to navigate the rest of the house while dodging a cadre of armed men and a legion of cameras.
Easy-peasy.
I test the elevator first, which fails to respond to any of the combinations I jam into the number pad. Great. How did Dante get down here so quickly last night?
I’m searching for a door that might lead to a stairwell when I remember the office by the MMA cage. I tiptoe in that direction, issuing a silent prayer for many unlocked doors in my near future.
My hammering chest could probably wake the dead. When I reach the office, I find that the door isn’t locked. Holding my breath, I peek inside.
Empty.
Relief weakens the knees as I rush across the threshold and shut the door with a soft snip.
The simple room is no bigger than a supply closet. The space basically only contains a mini fridge and a wall of monitors, each one fed by security cameras stationed throughout the house. I brace my hands on the back of the desk chair to stop their restless fidgeting.
Chances are, all basement exits are under surveillance. I scan the images in an effort to place each camera’s location.
A picture in the top left corner stops me dead in my tracks. Dante’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. His shoulders rise and fall with alarming quickness, and when he abruptly straightens, terror contorts his features.
His vulnerable expression throws my heart into a freefall.
“Look who we have here.”
Yelping, I whip around. Luca hovers in the doorway, his cold gray eyes glinting like ice chips. I attempt to dart past him, but he catches me around the waist and lifts me clear off my feet.
I thrash to escape, but his arm tightens, squeezing until I cry out. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Dread swamps me, knocking the air from my lungs. I go limp, and Luca retains his grip for another second to drive his point home before dropping me onto the concrete.
“Let’s go, princess.”
Snatching my arm, he marches me toward the elevator like a bad-tempered babysitter. Of course, the doors slide open for him, which means the system must be programmed to only respond to authorized users. Jeremy once described a similar program from work.
Luca drags me through the doors and stabs a button. My pulse sprints as I try hard not to speculate on what punishment might await me. Because I’m pretty sure I messed up past the point of no return this time.
I stand next to him, with my back straight and my chin held high. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he rattled me. Thankfully, Luca doesn’t speak or look at me, but he practically radiates tension.
When the doors open, I wince beneath his iron grip, which only reinforces how gently Dante touched me prior to this. Luca’s walking too fast for me to study the layout, which is fine. I’m too nervous to focus anyway.
Luca’s knock flips my stomach. The door swings open to reveal a disheveled Dante, clad in nothing but a pair of low-slung silk pajama bottoms and a thin cotton shirt. His murderous gaze travels between Luca and me.
Luca nudges me inside. I’m so distracted by Dante that I stumble forward and fall at his feet. “I found her trying to escape.”
Words spill out before I consider that shutting up might be the smarter option. “The door was open. All I did was walk out.”
Semantics, and we both know it. I clamber back to my feet and shoot Luca a glare before crossing my arms indignantly. As soon as my eyes lock with Dante, my lungs shut down.
Dante’s anger usually runs hot, but his current fury is icy and sharp. More knife than raging volcano, and I wrap my arms around myself as my irritation shifts to dread.
The wide-eyed panic the cameras caught on Dante’s face has vanished. Maybe that emotion was a product of my overactive imagination, because as he stalks toward me, I see only the promise of pain. “Perfect timing. Luca here just brought in a new lead for me to play with.”
I shake my head. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to help?” In one swift motion, he captures my throat in his hand. “Well, here’s your chance. Let’s see how much you can take.”