Shit.
“Are you taking me home?”
“Of course.” His frown deepened. “Don’t tell your dad where this place is.”
I heard a sudden deafening crash as the windshield shattered. Glass scattered over my head. I turned my face away and squeezed my eyes shut as I attempted to shield my head with my hands from the sprinkle of shards landing on me.
The man threw himself over me and reached for the door handle and flung it open. “Out. Get out!”
Shoving the door the rest of the way, I spilled out onto my knees, then sprang up, heading for the line of trees that was about fifty feet away. My heart pounded in my ears. Glancing back, I saw that man—my rescuer—running behind me.
“Go.” He gestured.
Another shot ran out.
He fell flat on his face and struggled to get up, his hands and face covered in mud.
I went back for him.
He frantically moved his arms. “No! Tell Glassman he let you go.”
Really, because that’s not what this looks like.
More bullets flew through the air. I ducked, making for cover. The same woods I’d viewed from the window. Mouth dry with thirst, I was panic-stricken. I considered raising my hands and surrendering, but adrenaline drove me on.
My hem snagged on foliage, stopping me.
I yanked at the material, and it ripped with a terrible rending sound. My legs were scratched by twigs as I hurried on between the towering oak trees. I lost a shoe. Went back for it and then changed my mind, kicking off the other. Barefoot, I sprinted into the denseness, ignoring the stabs of pain in my soles.
Running my fingers through my hair, I shook out the rest of the glass splinters that had landed on me.
No. . .
An eight-foot brick wall stopped me in my tracks. A few feet to my right rose another towering oak tree with an enormous width. It had to be at least four hundred years old. One of its branches stretched wide, reaching over the other side of the wall.
Quickly, I leaped onto a low hanging branch and made my way up the trunk, careful not to slip, bark digging into my soles, climbing higher and higher over thick branches, brushing leaves aside as my focus remained on making it over the other side.
I paused just long enough to peer back through the woods—seeing no one.
My bare thighs dragged along the unforgiving ruggedness as I scooted along a thick branch that bent low over the brick but not low enough. The drop was at least six feet. The road was clear. If I made it over, I could flag down a passing car. Or run to the other side and use the woodland as a shield making my way toward a house or car or a passer-by.
Lowering myself farther over the branch and hanging on, my arms strained as they took my full weight. Dangling. Building the courage to let go. Sweaty palms losing their strength.
I slipped off.
Screaming at the shock of landing. Agony jamming my ankles, losing my balance, and tumbling onto my back with a thud, winded.
Impossible to move.
I stared skyward through the oak leaves into the dawn.
Get up.
Get home.
Eventually, I braved shifting my arms and legs. Sitting up, I examined myself. Once I knew I was fine, I let a sigh of relief.
It took me a moment to catch my breath, but then I was up, struggling to my feet and hobbling off, whimpering at the agony of bruised bones.
The hoot of an owl.
Then silence again.
I squinted to try to see beyond the turn of the road. Seeing nothing, I continued on, hurrying faster to put distance between me and this place. Adrenaline causing me to shiver uncontrollably.
Then I saw something.
In the distance, the silhouette of a man. It looked a lot like Cassius.
Rubbing the distortion from my eyes to see better.
Fuck.
I bolted back in the direction I’d come from, trying to use the shield of the wall. I stopped abruptly when Cassius was standing before me. He had cut me off.
My chest tightened and my breaths were short as I again pivoted away from him.
“They will shoot you on sight,” he called after me. “Better it be me that takes you in.”
Caught between wanting to risk it and not wanting to feel a bullet, I froze. The hairs on my nape prickling, proving he was closing in behind me. He didn’t need to say anything. His presence sent a paralyzing shock through me.
“What did I say to you about running?” his voice was low.
I turned to face him. “You’d kill me.”
He came to stand before me. “Give me one good reason not to.”
Raising my chin high. “Because the only person who hates Stephen Glassman more than you is me.”
His brow furrowed as though with curiosity.
“Kill me now, and you won’t discover his weak spot.”
With a tilt of his head, he was seemingly resigned to that answer. He closed the gap between us and lifted me into his arms. “Don’t fight me,” he said.
Shaken and powerless, I reached behind his neck to hold on. Again, that closeness as his hands firmly clutched me to his chest. Nestling into his nape and breathing him in as though the man who was recapturing me was the only one who could save me.
He carried me toward a parked BMW.
He set me down beside it and opened the passenger door. “In you go.” He set me down in the front seat and closed the door behind me.
He took long strides around the front of the car, walking with the kind of purpose that threatened to eat up all the darkness of this place. His fingers were hypnotically trailing across the hood of the car as he strode past it.
After watching him climb in beside me, I lifted my legs onto the seat and hugged them. “What happened to that man?”
Cassius started the engine. “You mean my fucking lawyer?”
“Your lawyer?”
He hit the gas and we accelerated, shoving me back into the seat.
From the way the tension flexed in Cassius’s jaw, he blamed me for it.
“Tell me he’s okay.” I breathed.
“As far as mistakes go, that was your worst yet, Anya.”
Throat tight, my body rigid with terror, I looked out at the endless woodland, already plotting my next escape.
Cassius gestured to the man who was guarding the gate. More men walked the property in twos. It was a miracle I’d ever gotten out. I doubted I’d get a second chance.
The staff in the foyer scattered when Cassius arrived back with me. He’d picked me up again to carry me in. I knew this way. Recognized the paintings on the walls, the damask wallpaper, and that familiar door at the end—he was carrying me back to the dungeons.
Burying my face in the crook of his neck, I didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to believe this was happening. That I’d failed to escape and my dash at freedom had resulted in a man’s death. Guilt wedged in my throat. What was to stop this man from killing me?
I squeezed back tears of frustration, angry with myself for failing. I’d been so close to bolting across the street. Hiding in the woodland. That stupid fall had ruined my chance.
Too bruised and shaken to fight back. It felt useless anyway. He was too strong, too commanding in the way he ruled this estate. Too cunning with knowing every inch of this place, no doubt. Obviously ruling the men around us who’d watched on from afar as he carried me back in.
Cassius set me down outside the cell and gestured for me to go in. He assumed that confident pose as though expecting me to just walk in willingly.