Page 72 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“Right now.”

He lowers the radar. “Right now.”

I move closer and place my palm against the steel. The surface is cold enough to leach the warmth from my skin.

“What happens if we cut the power?” I ask.

“The lock probably seals automatically. It may trigger an alarm.”

“Can you break through the wall?”

“With what? My screwdriver?” He glances around. “We’d need heavy equipment and enough time to make a lot of noise.”

“That won’t work with all the guests arriving for the ball.” I put my hands on my hips. “Gotta admit, this is anticlimactic.”

“I know.” Thomson rises, dusting off his knees. “It’s been a while since I couldn’t open something. I forgot how irritating it is.”

I search for a camera, but nothing stands out among the pipes, lights, and seams in the concrete. “You think they’re watching us?”

“I would be. The camera may be built into the scanner. If it is, we won’t find it without taking the whole thing apart.” He reaches into his bag again. “I can still leave one of ours.”

Thomson attaches a camera high on the wall where a pipe meets the ceiling. A motion sensor goes near the floor, hidden behind the edge of the conduit. He connects both to his phone, checks the feed, then slips it into his pocket.

“If anyone comes through this corridor, we’ll know.”

I look at the black door again. The glass panel glows steadily beside it, untouched by everything Thomson tried.

Laurel saw someone enter through the cellar. The oiled hinges prove those outside doors have been used recently, and this is the only place this leads.

Whatever is behind the steel, someone has gone to considerable trouble to keep it hidden.

Thomson zips his bag shut. “Now we wait.”

“You know waiting has never been one of my strengths.”

He clasps my shoulder and steers me back toward the stairs. “Good thing you have a ball to distract you.”

Chapter nineteen

Two Days Until Bonding

Laurel

“What do you think?” Samantha asks, holding out the ball gown.

“Red?” I reach for the fabric, letting the smooth material slide under my fingers. In the afternoon light, the color shifts between garnet and wine, darkening wherever the folds overlap. The bodice is structured beneath the draped fabric, with a deep sweetheart neckline and no straps.

“I thought everything tonight was supposed to be blue.”

“The ballroom is blue,” Samantha says. “You’re not.”

I look from the gown to her. “What does that mean?”

“It means nearly half The Order has traveled here to see you. Wearing the same color as the curtains would be a waste.”

“Half The Order?” I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat. “How many is that? Exactly?”

“I don’t know.” Sam shakes out the folds of the dress. “Three or four thousand, give or take. Not all the international members could make it on such short notice.”