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All I know is, for a man who arranged for the chef to make me chicken Alfredo the other night, it’s odd that … his tone sounds like he couldn’t care less.
“Why, Hercules?” Enzo says inquisitively as he eyes him over. There’s no questioning the shift in his tone. “Do you want my fiancée?”
“No,” he answers coolly, like he couldn’t give a shit about what happens to me. Why would he though? He’s ruthless. Just like everyone else here. “I’m just curious what this means for me and my job.”
Enzo continues to rock back and forth in his chair, keeping his fingers together before him, like he’s concocting some evil plan. “When the girl is taken care of, you’ll still have a job,” he says casually. “Same with Rossi.”
Taken care of. In other words … dead. After all, what else could he possibly mean by that?
“Perfect,” he answers, clearly pleased with Enzo’s answer. Only proving that he’s no better than the rest of the men in that room.
All monsters can have nice moments—even Hudson Hercules.
I feel sick. The words, “When the girl is taken care of,” replay over and over again in my mind.
He’s going to kill me. The question is, when?
During my time here, I’ve played along. I’ve kept my head down and done what I had to just to stay alive. But I’ll never get out of here in one piece if I stay. That’s never been more glaringly clear than it is right now. I was never a long-term part of Enzo’s plan. Neither was my uncle—and it actually makes me happy that they are planning to blindside him. After all, my own blood brought me here, giving me to the worst humans, and then left.
“I have shit to do, so that wraps this meeting up.” He pushes himself to stand. “I’ve got a late-night meeting tonight at the new club. Rossi, Val, you’ll come with me. Hercules and the rest of you, you’ll stay back and keep an eye on the complex. After the window incident the other day, we need twenty-four/seven guards at both houses.”
“Yes, sir,” they all say in unison, and I hear the shuffling of bodies, making my heart lurch into my throat.
For fear of getting caught, I slowly push off the wall and quickly tiptoe down the hall and back into my room, making a mental note to look into this Vittoria Island place and what exactly it is. And where.
I hear footsteps, and moments later, a door closes. I hear a loud engine start before it takes off. Enzo is gone. And it’s time for me to get the hell out of here.
I’m going to die anyway. I might as well run now. It’s my only shot at freedom, even if it’s a damn small shot.
Pulling my hair up, I tuck my phone into the pocket of my leggings. When I look in the mirror at myself, I see a sliver of the strong warrior that I’ve always carried myself as. But I stand a little taller, taking a deep breath and making a promise that I’m done letting myself and my brother down.
“I am coming home, Walker,” I whisper before peering out my door and looking both ways. Seeing no one, I quickly duck out and tiptoe down the stairs.
I’m well aware of the cameras in this house. And the truth is, they’re going to make it damn hard to get out of here without getting caught. But with each one I go by, I make sure to look like I’m just passing by, as if I were on my way to get a snack. But when I see the camera pointing at the door, I know I can’t just walk by it. It’s dark out. It would alert the dozens of guards with access to the footage. So, instead, I look around until I spot the closet, knowing damn well there must be a broom in there.
Quietly tugging the door open, I don’t see a broom, but there’s one of those Swiffer Duster things that have an incredibly long reach. Smiling to myself, I grab it and pull it until it opens all the way, stopping to make sure no footsteps are approaching.
Making sure I stay out of its view, I hold the duster up to the side of the camera. After a few seconds, I spot a small button on the side, and I move it around until, finally, the end of the duster hits it, and the red light dies out.
Putting the Swiffer back, I open the door, waiting for an alarm to sound. And when it doesn’t, I make a run for it toward the driveway. The gate is high, but my brother and I always climbed fences as kids. This won’t be any different.
My heart thumps so heavily that it actually hurts. My legs shake, but I continue pushing myself to run toward the edge of the woods until I reach the gate. I can do it.
I have to do it.
Running in the wooded area next to the driveway, I’m out of breath by the time I reach the entrance. I’m so close. But the question is, when I get out of here … how will I get back to the United States?
One thing at a time, Briar. First, get out of here before getting killed like all those poor girls on the crime shows you’ve watched. If I’m dead, it doesn’t matter if I’m in Italy or the US, right?
I stand next to a tree, looking at the gate. I know there are cameras facing out at anyone coming, but I’ve never noticed any from this way. Maybe if I can climb over it and hug my body against the gate coming down, I won’t get caught.
I mean, it’s unlikely, but it’s all I’ve got.
I’m just about to book it toward the gate when a huge arm wraps around my waist and a hand comes over my mouth. I flail around, kicking and screaming, though it comes out as a pathetic muffled sound over the huge hand cupped against my lips.
Facial hair tickles my ear, and that’s when I hear his voice.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to get yourself killed.” His gruff voice speaks slowly in my ear, and I hold my breath, paralyzed with fear.
