“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
He pats me on the back, and I make my way behind the stage to the corridor. I’m bouncing on my toes, filled with a high I haven’t felt in years. There’s nothing like performing for an audience, especially when it goes this well.
The dark corridor gives me a moment of pause, though. Itold Mr. Billings I’d be fine on my own, but it’s a little creepy walking through here without someone else. I shiver uncontrollably, blaming my imagination for going too far again.
I tell myself I’m safe, looking for the exits and paying attention to anything unusual. There’s a light ahead, telling me the exit is close.
Wait.
Is that a door creaking in the distance?
Maybe it’s just another student. I’ll walk more quickly.
But I don’t walk quickly enough. Because a hand grabs my elbow, yanking me into one of the corners, and another hand clamps over my mouth so no one can hear me scream.
CHAPTER 40
Lily
SERGEI RACHMANINOFF — ÉTUDES-TABLEAUX NO. 6 IN A MINOR, OP. 39
“Shh, shh. I’m not trying to hurt you.” The hand gripping my arm, tightly squeezing my bicep, doesn’t match this man’s words.
It’s a familiar voice. But it’s not Ryder. This voice is a little higher pitched, and Ryder wouldn’t grab me like this, not when we were practicing self-defense, not ever. It’s not any of my brothers, either. They’d never do this to me.
I can’t break out of this hold, at least not with the techniques Ryder taught me. My back is flush against this man’s body, and Ryder never showed me how to get out of this.
Who is holding me?
When he spins me around to face him and I realize who it is, my stomach drops and my skin crawls.
It’s Tristan Jackson, looking down at me with his hand on my mouth and his other hand on my shoulder. He shoves me into a corner and presses my back against the wall.
I shake my head back and forth, trying to free myself from his grasp, but he won’t budge.
“I’ll let go of your mouth if you promise not to scream,” he says, his blue eyes full of ice. “I just want to talk.”
I swallow hard, weighing my options. I can agree and then scream, but I don’t really have much of a chance of escaping. I have Galileo in my hand, but I’m not sure how much damage that can do. Even if I scream, someone might hear me, or they might not. There’s a concert going on, after all. He would probably just grab me and hurt me worse.
Or I can agree and find out what he wants, then use my brain to figure a way out.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to succeed, but I think it’s my best chance.
So I give a nod, and he releases his hand, hovering it over my mouth in case I change my mind. When he decides I meant what I said, he puts his hand on my hip, gripping it hard.
My eyes have adjusted slightly to the dark, and I see his lips turn up into the charming grin he’s so well known for.
I’m going to be sick.
“That was a beautiful performance, Lily,” he says. His familiar voice, dripping with honey and venom, makes my stomach turn. “How come you never played for me when we were together?”
“We were never together,” I say slowly.
“Oh, really? I think I have some text messages you sent that say otherwise.” He gives me a wink.
The anger in me is rising higher and higher. I swear, I’m going to explode if I don’t get out of here soon.
But how?
