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I’m happy for Hannah as she and Denver have a healthy respect for each other. They even love each other and understand each other’s darker sides. He also doesn’t mind that Hannah is bi-sexual and has been in love with as many men as she has women.
I take a breath and run a hand over my face. I can see Hannah’s reaction now to the news that I’m engaged and about to get married before her or Urie, who is marrying Olga, the love of his life, in three months.
With all my friends pairing off and getting married, maybe it’s just as well that I’ve got Isabella. I change my mind about calling my father and decide to message Hannah. I scroll through my phone to find her name, and a silent alarm goes off in my apartment.
Jesus, when did I become like this? Is this what losing your bachelorhood does to you? I’ve only known mine had been taken away a couple of hours ago, and already I feel like an old married man. I snort, looking at Hannah’s number and deciding not to call her so late.
I’m instantly alert; my monitors on my office wall go on, and my eyes land on Isabella’s room. I’m pushing up out of my chair, grabbing my phone and gun, and I see who’s on the balcony.
“What the fuck!” I howl as I see Isabella, dressed in cat burglar clothes, scaling the balcony. My breath catches, and my eyes are glued to the screen as I watch her swing onto the balcony a little to the left and below her.
I’m out of the office in a flash, barking for two of the men that I have in my apartment to help me make sure Isabella doesn’t try to sneak out. I tap the security app on my phone to bring up the images. I didn’t even think about the balconies as an escape route.
We’re twenty-six fucking stories up, but for an acrobat or gymnast, which I’m pretty sure Isabella is, the balcony is the perfect escape route. And holy shit, if she isn’t an incredible gymnast too. Isabella’s control, precision, and perfect landings on the balconies she’s hopping are more than proof.
I gather my men and send them out to help get the daring escape artist back, and when I do, I’m going to make sure she can’t sit for the next two days!
Chapter 7
ISABELLA
Three Nights Ago - Andrey’s Apartment Building
As soon as I hear the door click, I open my eyes. I don’t have to reach out to know that Andrey has left. The key turns in the lock. It’s nice to know he still doesn’t trust me. I stretch languidly. My limbs are still tingling, as are other areas of my body. I slide off the bed, trying to keep Andrey and what just happened between us from my mind.
I can’t afford to get sidetracked by sex or the sexy devil that just drove me to the most explosive climaxes twice. I need to get out of here while I still have the cover of night to get to the airport.
I scramble off the bed, ignoring the burning sensation between my legs. I go to Andrey’s mother’s closet and rifle through it. As expected, some items still have the label on them, like an awesome sports bra and panties that are still in their exclusive boutique packaging and have yet to be opened.
Andrey’s mother has exquisite taste in underwear. I also shop at this particular boutique. His mother is better endowed than me in the boob department. But luckily, it’s adjustable. The compressing top and leggings are also slightly too big for me, but they’re much better to move in than jeans and a baggy shirt. I’m about to do acrobatics down the side of a fucking building. I can’t have a shirt flapping about.
I rifle through the closet and find a black hoodie, socks, and sneakers. I don’t care right now if they’ve been used or not as I quickly get dressed. I take the pocket knife and shove it in the sneaker just beneath the instep of my one foot. I grab the hoodie and make a small hole in the pocket. Big enough to put my cash, key, and lock-picking tools in. I can’t have them falling out. But if I move them between the pocket and the lining, they’ll stay.
Thank you, Captain Johns—my one survival boot camp instructor—on Hiding Items 101. I put the hoodie on and zip it up. I tuck the hood in, shoving it into the back of the compression shirt as I can’t have it flapping over my face on a jump. I’ve practiced what I’m about to do on the parallel bars for years, so I’m ninety-nine point nine percent certain I can do this—or die.
The key is in the glass door, thankfully. I unlock it and push it open, exhaling slowly. A small smile of satisfaction curls my lips. I step out onto the balcony and move to the railing.
My eyes are drawn down, down, down. “Now, just twenty-six stories, and I’m off into the night. Bye-bye fucktards of my past.” I swing my legs over the balcony, dangling in the air, and swing down onto the one below and just off to the side of mine, landing it like a pro. “I stuck that landing.”
“One balcony down.” I turn and blend against the railing when I see the lights on inside the room and movement. “Shit.”
I handstand onto the railing, hold the position, walk my one hand over the other to turn, and swing down onto the balcony below, hoping whoever was in that apartment didn’t see me. I move onto the next balcony, and as far as I can see, it’s vacant.
“Thank fuck!” I breathe. “I wasn’t really looking forward to swinging my way down the building.”
I flex my shoulder that was damaged during a competition two years ago. It was the same competition that ended my competing days because of the injury. I flex it a bit, then fish out the small tension wrench and pick from my hidden compartment in the pocket of the hoodie.
I crouch beside the glass door, feeling my heart pounding in my chest as the exhilaration of my escape starts to build. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Who would’ve thought I’d ever use these skills? Maybe I’ll become a cat burglar if I run out of funds when I get my new life.
With practiced precision, I insert the tension wrench into the bottom of the lock and apply a slight pressure. Carefully, I slide the pick into the top of the lock, feeling for the pins inside. One by one, I lift each pin, my fingers steady and sure despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
A moment later, I feel the last pin give way, and with a soft click, the lock turns. I open the door and step into the dark apartment.
Chapter 8
ANDREY
Three Nights Ago - Andrey’s Apartment
