by Skye Warren
“I do care,” she says, sounding near tears. “About him. But the girls, it’s too much. First one. Then another. I hate them. I hate them so much I almost can’t breathe.”
I suck in a breath. Me and Penny. Why does she hate us?
And what has she done about it?
Sold information? If that’s the case, then the man with cropped silver hair knows about it. He works for Blue Security, which means Jonathan Scott has an inside man. Even if I believe what West told me, I can’t trust that Gabriel will be okay. Not with people inside working against him.
There’s murmuring from the kitchen, words I can’t make out.
What are they plotting together? Before I realize what’s happening, the man with silver hair strides into the hallway. He stops short, eyes narrowing.
I gesture uselessly toward the room. “I was just talking to West. Asking about Gabriel.”
“And what did he tell you?” There’s suspicion. Accusation.
“Not to worry.”
“Then you should listen to him,” he says, his voice flat.
A shiver runs through me.
For a moment I think he might handle the threat here and now. Drag me into a closet. Finish me. Except that would be too big of a mess, even for someone with connections. There would be evidence on tape. And whatever Mrs. B and this man have done, I believe that West is being honest with me. As honest as he can be. He wouldn’t be in on a plot to hurt Gabriel.
“Of course,” I say too brightly. “I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.”
And I see in this man’s expression the truth. He knows Gabriel isn’t coming back. The way that Penny knew that he was in trouble. The way I knew, somewhere deep inside, when I begged him to stay.
In that split second I make a decision.
I’m not safe here. And more importantly, Gabriel isn’t safe out there.
When I emerge from the hallway, Mrs. B works at kneading dough on a wooden chopping block dusted with flour. I smell rosemary and garlic. Any other day I would have given her a smile and some remark about how delicious it looks.
That’s what I do today, too. Because I don’t want her to suspect.
“Oh by the way,” I add. “I remembered I need something. Can you order it for me?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I feel a little guilty for leaving Penny. She’ll freak out when Mrs. B shows up with her breakfast tomorrow, but I don’t have a choice. Aside from one day of speaking, she still doesn’t talk. She barely eats. I can’t drag her around Tanglewood. And even though I don’t trust Mrs. B or the security guards here, I believe they’ll at least behave for the camera, for the time being.
Besides, it would be harder to sneak two people out.
The one advantage I have is that I got to know the house before the extra security came. Before I became a prisoner here. So I’ve seen the way deliveries are handled, even though I probably couldn’t make it outside before being escorted back inside by West—or the man with the silver hair.
An Amish farm outside Tanglewood sells organic handmade soap. I used to order a special strawberry blend from them when I lived with my father. That’s the kind of thing Tanglewood high society likes to do. Usually our beauty products and fashion came imported from Paris, like any respectable billionaire princess. Every so often there would be a new discovery—the anti-aging benefits of local honey or a silk made from worms only in our tristate area. Anything new seemed fascinating, because we only ever saw the same people at parties, only ever discussed the same things.
The truck that pulls in front of the gate is an old model, with large curves and knotted wooden slats lining the bed. A faded painting of a buggy is painted on the side, the only nod to the Amish sensibility. I have no idea if it’s really the truck they have or purchased for the old-world image, but it’s easily distinguishable from the brown package trucks that show up regularly.
I watch from the darkened stairs as Mrs. B bustles to the door, escorted by the man with silver hair a step behind. Security measures, though they seem more sinister after the conversation I heard.
With them occupied, there’s no one in the kitchen. I pass through the warm room, the scent of fresh bread permeating the air. Instead of turning down the hallway toward the room with surveillance, I walk quickly out the door. With West in the room and the other two at the front door, no one will know which way I went. Eventually they’ll find me on the cameras, which is exactly what I want.
I cross the back lawn toward the forest, which curves around to the front gates.
From the protection of the trees I watch the delivery man return to his truck and drive away, dust kicking up in his wake. It hurts not to be on that truck, but it would be too easy. Plus I’d be stranded on an Amish farm outside Tanglewood.
It’s slow going through the forest, trying not to leave any tracks, but eventually I reach the back entrance of the hedge maze. I pick up a brisk jog once I’m inside, working toward the center.
A stitch pains my side, and I stop for a moment.
Something snaps behind me—a twig. I turn, but no one’s there. Only an endless expanse of greenery. Stop imagining things. With a shake of my head to clear it, I continue forward.
When I reach the middle, I sit down in a dry patch of earth to wait.
Night comes slowly, leaving me plenty of time to think.
To think about my father, living alone in a sterile room. Comfortable, yes. He has all the luxuries that money can buy. No family, because he pushed away everyone he loved.
Or maybe he never loved us, my mother and me.
He could be a castle, shiny and smooth—made of stone, through and through.
The moon sits high when I hear voices. I’ve been discovered, of course. Mrs. B would notice when I don’t appear for dinner. My heart pangs. Penny will be afraid when I’m not there.
The search of the grounds takes two hours. I hear shouts coming from the east as men look through the forest. And then I hear footsteps through the maze, on the other side of this hedge.
Finally the moment I’ve been waiting for.
I follow a circular route so that I’m behind the man. It’s a man I’ve never seen before, wearing the same black T-shirt and black cargo pants that West does. He looks military, but young. Hopefully that will be enough to fool him. That and my familiarity with the hedge.
I follow him left, right. Left again.
We might be going in circles for all he knows.
My foot breaks a twig, and he stops. I tuck behind a wall, barely breathing, waiting. When his footsteps fade away, I know I’m safe. I follow with more distance between us this time.
He leaves the hedge, speaking into his cell phone. “The maze is clear.”
I’m his shadow, following him across the lawn and to the garages. If I stayed too close, I’m sure he would have heard me. But I know where we’re going. I only need to make it to the vehicle before he leaves. The hatch door at the back of the black SUV hangs open, as if it’s just been loaded.
When I stand at the bumper, I hear him speaking on the phone again.
“Should I keep looking?” A pause. “Jefferson said he’s already looked through the house. He has the housekeeper looking again, but he seems sure they’re not there.”
I climb into the back of the trunk, between a row of black duffel bags. What are in these? They’re heavy, that much I know. I tug one on top of my body, hiding myself—and praying there isn’t some kind of grenade inside.
“He said there was a delivery this afternoon. Some fancy shit from a farm east of Tanglewood. She must have known the driver or communicated with him beforehand.”
My eyes close, praying it’s enough.
“We can check the farm, but if she had a plan, he could have dropped her anywhere.”
Something touches my foot, and I almost scream. Penny climbs into the trunk beside me, a serious look in her eyes and twigs sticking out of her hair.
What are you doing? I for
m the words with my mouth, no sound.
She doesn’t answer except to tuck her body beneath a duffel bag like mine. She smells like earth and fresh air, which means she’s been out in the hedge with me all this time. God.
“I’ll head back to HQ,” the man says, his footsteps crunching on the gravel as he rounds the vehicle. We stay deathly still as he approaches the trunk. The pause sounds like thunder in my ears.
Then the trunk hatch slams closed, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
When we’re on the road, the roar of the engine makes it possible to talk. But what is there to say? She knows that I’m escaping. And that I planned to leave her there.
Her hand reaches for mine over the scratchy carpet on the floor of the vehicle. I clasp her frail fingers, praying I’m not leading us both to our deaths.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When we get into the city, the black vehicle pulls into a gated parking lot. We wait until he’s gone before bolting for the gate. I’m sure they have video surveillance here, at their headquarters, so we need to disappear fast.
A bus screeches by, coming to a stop across the street.
I take Penny’s hand and pull her through the accordion doors. Once we get up the tall steps, I’m not sure what to do. I rode the bus to visit my father in the nursing home, but I had money then. I’ve got nothing now.
The bus driver is an older woman, who gives me a look of disdain.
“Tanglewood Sober Ride,” Penny murmurs, before tugging me down the aisle.
Apparently those are the magic words, because the bus lurches forward.
“Thank you,” I whisper as we make our way to the seats.
There aren’t many people on the bus with us, and they don’t bother looking up.
She gives me a small smile that seems to say, your first time?
So maybe Gabriel isn’t so wrong when he calls me little virgin. “We should go to the Den,” I murmur. “It’s on Fourth Street, once you go past the train tracks and—”
Her hand squeezes mine. “I know.”
She knows this city better than me. We’ve both lived here our whole lives, but I only walked the hallowed upper society. Manors and house parties. Not the actual streets of the city I thought I loved. How can I love something that I didn’t even know? There’s an uncomfortable parallel between the city and Gabriel Miller, but I can’t focus on that now. Not when he’s in danger.
The buildings change from the warehouses near the docks, where the security company is headquartered, to the narrower historic buildings of downtown.
Penny pulls a cord behind us, making a ding sound. The bus slows to a stop.
From there it’s only a block until we reach the Den, moving quickly in the dark. It’s not smart to linger on these streets. I may not know the secrets of the public transit system, but even I know that.
The Den’s door hangs open, an ominous sign.
All the lights are off.
I take a step inside, my ballet flats crunching on something breakable and sharp—it stabs into the corkboard soles of my shoes. A pained sound in my throat echoes through the foyer, and I step back. Penny feels around the side and finds a light switch.
The air sucks from the room. Glass litters the entranceway like rose petals on a church aisle, leading the way down the hall. And there at the end, lying on the stairs, Anders’s large body sprawls across the steps. Skipping over the glass, I rush to his side. “Oh my God.”
I press my hands to the wound on his chest, but there’s too much blood. I’m wearing a thin pink cardigan over my linen dress, and I pull it off to staunch the blood. It makes a grotesque amalgam of pale rose pink and dark red.
He coughs, a sound of pain that fills me with relief. Alive. He’s alive.
“Don’t,” he says.
“You’re losing blood,” I say, my voice high with panic.
“Don’t go—” He coughs again.
I glance back, surprised to see Penny staring at us, wide-eyed and terrified. For someone who was so competent on the bus, she looks like she’s about to bolt. “He’s not here.”
“Gabriel?”
She shakes her head, skin deathly pale. As pale as when she first arrived at the Den.
Anders takes my hand, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones. I yelp, trying to pull away. But even despite his injury, he yanks me close. I’m an inch away from him. I can see the faint lines of his face, the slight silvery scruff of his hair. The striations of pain in his blue eyes.
“Don’t go to him. That’s what he wants.”
Not Gabriel, I realize. Jonathan Scott. The same thing Gabriel has been warning me against the entire time. The same thing my mother did that ended her life. Except I don’t know that there’s any other choice. He’s closing every other path, forcing me to the one he wants.
“Gabriel,” I whisper. “He’s alive?”
“Forget him.”
That means yes. If he were dead, Anders would tell me in a misguided attempt to send me away. If there’s a chance that I can save Gabriel, then I’ll do it. I may be the princess locked in the tower, but I’m going to save the prince.
I go to the phone on a side table and call the emergency line. An ambulance will come for Anders. Whether I’ll need one at the end of this remains to be seen.
And then I turn to Penny. “He sent you to me, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice thready.
“You’re going to take me to him.”
Her head shakes, violent. “No.”
“Yes, Penny. I need you to do this for me. I need you to do it for Gabriel.” And I think she has to do it for herself, to break her out of this spell. She’s lived in a cocoon of Jonathan Scott’s making ever since the attack. The only way to survive is to break free, to become someone else—something else.
“I don’t want to die.”
That’s when it hits me, the realization that this is the end. Not for Penny and not for Gabriel. Not if I can help it. It’s the end for me, the same way it was for my mother. And maybe that’s the best end I can hope for. Not a love story. A tragedy, one I faced with bravery, my chin raised high to the end.
My mother was an adventurer. I know that much from her diaries. I may look like her, but we never shared that trait. I never sneaked onto the lake in a stolen canoe, never fooled around with my female classmate while men vied for my hand at the party inside. A rule breaker, while I minded every wish of my mother, every requirement of society. We were, each of us, born in the wrong time.
There’s one thing we share, besides the blood that runs through our veins.
We both love a man that leads us to our deaths.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I thought the streets near the Den were dark, but they’re nothing compared to the west side. The deeper we walk, the more shadows surround us. I can see how Jonathan Scott manages to maneuver here, especially if he’s familiar with these alleys.
Penny seems familiar enough, leading me with a steady gait, if a worried expression. She tugs me to the side to avoid a particularly deep pothole in front of a diner. Light spills out of frosted windows, revealing cracked leather booths, mostly empty. A waitress fills a coffee cup at one of the tables. Her uniform is a drab blue, like the one that Penny wore when Damon carried her. I can still remember his hands tearing the fabric from her cold body.
“You worked here?”
She gives me a small smile. “Since I turned thirteen.”
My eyebrows rise. I didn’t even know you could go to work that early, but that shows how much I know about child labor. And then again, the west side isn’t exactly known for strict law enforcement.
“Did you like it there?”
Her smile fades. “No one likes it there.”
“The food isn’t good?”
“It’s tolerable. Most things are tolerable, if you don’t have any other choice.”
I put my hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.”
She
looks back, her blue eyes imploring. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t want that. I just want you to understand this. To understand me. Because what you’re going to see next…”
“What?”
“The west side isn’t like what you’re used to. It’s not even like the Den.”
Unease runs through me. “Sometimes the way people talk about Jonathan Scott… it’s like he’s a ghost or something. Not even human.”
Her eyes flash with remembered pain. “He’s not human. He’s an animal.”
“You don’t have to come with. Give me directions.”
She shakes her head. “I think I can sneak into the back and find some steak knives.”
I wish I could spare her this, but I might need help. Gabriel could be in real trouble, and we might need strength in numbers. We might even need steak knives, not that they would be much proof against the guns that Jonathan Scott has access to. “Are you sure?”
“Wait here,” she says. “You can be the lookout.”
Only when she disappears into the side alley do I realize we don’t have a warning signal. I suppose I would just run back and join her if I see anything.
On the other hand, being a lookout probably isn’t a real job. We’re not robbing a bank, after all. It’s something to keep me busy so I don’t get in the way.
She returns in only five minutes, looking breathless.
“Thank you,” I say, taking one of the knives from her.
“When we get there, I’ll go in first. I know the layout, at least a little bit. And there’s always a chance it’s rigged to explode or something crazy like that.”
My mouth drops open. “So you’re going to sacrifice yourself?”
“It only makes sense.”
“Are you kidding me? It makes zero sense. If anyone’s going first, it’s me.”
“I’m nobody,” she says gently, as if she’s breaking bad news to me. “The way that royalty would have someone taste their food, to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.”