I don’t run, but God, I want to. Instead, I force myself to march purposefully through the lobby, past the concierge, and out the revolving doors.
The night air hits me hard, cool against my too-warm skin. I pause on the sidewalk, blinking under the streetlights, trying to figure out which direction to go.
I can’t call a cab. I can’t book a flight. I can’t even grab a coffee at the corner café without money.
But I’m not in the penthouse anymore. I’m not trapped. I let out a shaky breath and start walking.
I’ll figure it out. I have to.
I keep my head down as I move. No phone. No ID. No clue where I am in this city. But I’m moving. I’m not locked in that penthouse anymore.
I walk until my feet are raw and the hotel is several blocks behind me, until the adrenaline starts to burn off. I pass bars, convenience stores, sketchy motels. The neon sign of a 24-hour diner glows ahead like a beacon.
I can’t risk sitting down.
Not yet.
I don’t know where I’m going, but the farther I get from that hotel, the easier I can breathe. Not much, but enough to keep me moving.
The streetlights bleed golden across the sidewalk. Cars hum past me in waves. My heels click unevenly against the concrete, but I don’t stop.
I rub my arms as I walk, chilled despite the warm night. And then I see the blue sign.
Police.
I stop in my tracks.
Across the street and one block down, a small, squat building with old brick and a single floodlight pointed at the front entrance beckons to me. No one is outside, but a cruiser is parked at the curb, and the interior lights are on.
My stomach twists.
Benedikt said that the second I involved the police, it was war. I’d start something I couldn’t take back. Dragging the law into his world wouldn’t make me safer.
It’d do the opposite.
I stand on the sidewalk and weigh my options. I don’t want to go in there and tell someone I need help. That I’m not in control. That I trusted the wrong man, and now I’m in over my head.
But what choice do I have?
Benedikt is a nightmare I can’t wake up from, and he’ll find me if I go home. He knows where I live. Even if I run forever, what happens to Grandma? Would he hurt her? Would someone else?
That thought makes me feel like I’m going to throw up.
I pace a few steps away from the crosswalk, trying not to lose it, but I’m spiraling. The street is empty, and I’m not built for this world. His world. All I wanted was to pay off a few bills and breathe a little easier. I didn’t want to get tangled in whatever the hell this is.
I glance up again.
This is my only shot. I have nothing else.
I can’t call my dad. He’s the one who got me in this situation. Reaching out to my grandmother would stress her out, and she couldn’t help anyway.
I cross the street.
My heels wobble on a crack in the pavement because I’ve already made up my mind.
I take the stairs to the building one at a time, pushing through the heavy front door and stepping into a blast of cold air and fluorescent lights.
The front desk is empty at first, but then a cop appears from the hallway. He’s tall and maybe in his mid-forties, with tired eyes and a receding hairline. His uniform is crisp, but the lookhe gives me is automatic, like he’s seen enough people in my position to recognize the storm before I open my mouth.
