The town of Avery Falls had only a few buildings along the river. There was one main street. At the entrance of the township, a bridge welcomed visitors. It couldn't be too hard to find her way there.
She shoved back the curtain, flipped the flimsy lock in the middle of the window, and yanked. One of her fingernails bent backward. She muffled her groan, sticking the end of her ring finger in her mouth.
She'd unlocked the window. Why wouldn't it open?
Studying the glass, the frame, she found a screw embedded in the bottom track, keeping the window from opening.
Going to every window at the back of the house, she found each one rigged not to open.
Frustrated, she couldn't even get into the garage to find a screwdriver; she walked into the kitchen. Her gaze zeroed in on the drawers.
Hope blossomed inside of her as she started opening and shutting each one again, sure she'd spotted a junk drawer before. She prayed Keenan was like everyone else in the world and had a spare screwdriver hidden amongst rubber bands, take-out menus, and decks of cards.
Bingo!
She rifled through the items. Protein mixes. Dishwasher pods. Pencils. Empty cash bags—he probably robbed banks when he wasn't kidnapping women.
She slammed the drawer shut in disappointment. Of course, Keenan wasn't normal.
In case she was wrong, and he kept the tool in a different area of the house, she checked the cabinets and under the sink again. Finding a skillet in the sink from the breakfast he'd made, she fingered the handle and lifted, testing its weight.
She glanced behind her, though the biker outside had no way of seeing her, much less reading her mind. This could be her only chance to escape.
If she busted a window, the biker would hear. But what if he never noticed?
She walked into the living room. Keenan had a TV.
Searching for the remote, she found it next to the receiver box. She turned it on, flipping through the channels. Nothing worked.
She bit her bottom lip. It appeared he wasn't hooked up to satellite or cable, or maybe he dropped his service. Tossing the remote toward the couch, her attention went to the stereo sitting on the floor beside a wooden rocker.
Stepping over, she squatted down and pressed the power button. The blue lights on the display came on. Her heart raced as she quickly discovered a CD in the player. Cranking the volume to max, she stood. Would it be loud enough to cover the sound of broken glass? Could the biker outside even hear the music with the doors and windows shut?
She picked up the pan and went to the master bedroom. It was the room at the end of the hall. She could see a huge pole building at the back of the yard. If she could get behind the structure, she could hide. Then, she could figure out where to go next.
Her hands shook. She had no idea if it would break a window until she tried taking a whack at the glass.
Afraid of cutting herself but more afraid of failing, she used her fear to aid her efforts. She held the handle like a baseball player holding a bat, prepared to hit a home run. Swinging with all her strength, she closed her eyes, anticipating the window shattering.
At contact, the pan bounced out of her hands. Pain ricocheted through her palms and into her wrists. She opened her eyes, expecting to see shards of glass littering the floor in front of her, and gawked at the spider vein etched in the window. Not a single piece had fallen out.
She picked up the pan and hit it again, getting a six-inch shard loose. Prying it out of the frame with her bare hand, she worked diligently.
Swing, hit, pick. Swing, hit, pick. The work went painstakingly slow. It would take her too long to make a hole in the window large enough for her body to fit through.
The music blaring through the house changed. Energy flowed through her at Kurt Cobain, belting out the lyrics of Lithium. With the pot suspended over Grace's right shoulder, she wondered if Keenan was a Nirvana fan.
She broke off the last big piece in the pane. Dropping the pot, she pushed the bed closer to the wall and scampered up on the mattress. It was a short five-foot drop to the ground. She peered out at the building. It wouldn't take her long to sprint across the yard, where she would have more options on where to hide.
Fresh air hit her face. She threw her leg over the sill, careful not to cut herself, and squeezed through the window opening. Freedom in sight, she dropped to the ground. A bubble of excitement filled.
Chapter Nine
Keenan parked his Harley beside Ruger's motorcycle in the driveway. He'd left his MC brother outside the house for the sole purpose of staying put and watching Grace.
"Where the fuck are you?" he whispered, expecting an answer.
Silence greeted him. Ruger was barely out of the prospect position and hadn't received all his training from the Alpha Bio Project. He wouldn't have his hearing enhancement yet.
He dug through his duffle, found the automatic garage door opener, and pushed the remote. Jogging toward the garage, he realized his mistake.
Ruger wasn't qualified to watch over Grace. He wanted someone to visually keep her in sight and within enhanced hearing distance. As it was, Ruger wouldn't be able to tell what the fuck was going on in the house from outside.
He unlocked the door and pushed into the kitchen. A slight pulse filled his ears, and he followed the sensation.
Grace sat on the couch with Ruger standing near the window across the room. He glanced at his MC brother and lifted his chin, motioning him to leave. Now that he knew Grace was safe in the house, he could handle her himself.
Ruger walked up to him. "She busted out your bedroom window. I had Steven come over and board it up from the outside, but you'll want to get that fixed if you plan on keeping her."
A muscle in his cheek twitched. He stared at Grace. Not surprised to learn she'd tried to escape; he'd need to do something about her always wanting to leave.
She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
The door leading to the garage closed. As soon as he was alone with Grace, she jumped up.
"He dragged me through the window." She held up her arm and pointed at her elbow. "That's from him."
She had a small nick on her skin. He stepped closer, grabbed her arm, and held it up higher.
Her wound wasn't deep enough to require a Band-Aid. It was merely a scratch.
"What are you going to do about it?" She pushed him. "Go...punch him or shoot him!"
He cocked his head. She had no reason to believe he'd do her bidding. He wasn't trained that way.
A growl erupted out of his throat, and he walked into the kitchen, leaving her behind. He'd had a hard enough day explaining in detail what would happen during the switch to the first batch of men. Tomorrow, he had to do the same thing to the remaining members of the club.
Small fists pummeled his back, barely making an impact. She was a small package, insignificant in his life. He had bigger demons breathing down his back.
"Let. Me." She walloped him again. "Go."
He turned around and grabbed her upper arms, putting a stop to her physical attack. Her head whipped back and forth. Held prisoner by the blue eyes staring up at him, his body locked down. He lifted her to her toes.
Her gasp and rapid breaths covered him. Aware of her breasts squished against his chest, her thighs pressed against the front of his leg, her mouth open and seductive, his grip on her tightened.
She winced, refusing to back down.