He turns to face me, and in the dim light, his expression is unreadable. "You want to run? Here's your chance."
"What?" I stare at him, confused. I have no idea what’s going on.
"I'm going to give you what you want. A chance at freedom." He gestures to the warehouse. "You have this entire building to hide in. All these rooms, all these shadows, all these places to disappear. And I'm going to chase you."
My heart starts pounding. Fear rushes through my veins, but there’s something else, too. A sick sense of anticipation follows it, twisting my stomach as my adrenaline starts to build,a prickling sensation running over my palms. "What are you talking about?"
"A game." His voice is soft, dangerous. "If you can evade me, if you can escape this warehouse without me catching you, you're free. I'll let you go. You can go back to your life. Your apartment. Your job. Everything. I’ll find a way to ensure your safety."
So you could have done that all along?I want to say it, but I bite the words back, trying to focus on what’s happening now. On the rules of this new game he wants to play.
"And if you catch me?" I ask shakily.
He moves closer, and I can see the hunger in his eyes, the barely controlled desire. "If I catch you, I get to do whatever I want with you."
Those words, uttered in his thick, accented voice, hard and rough and so full of promising, threatening lust that it makes my knees weak, are both terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.
"Do we have an agreement?" he asks, his voice low and intense.
I stare at him.What happens if I say no? I think I know the answer. He takes me back to the penthouse, and we go back to the way things were. We fight. He breaks me down. I give in. I hate myself for it, and we start all over again.
And a part of me wants to play his game. To find out if he’ll really let me go if I win.
Or what happens if he catches me.
"Yes," I whisper.
A slow, predatory smile creeps across his face, turning it sharply handsome in the shadowed light. "Then run, Mara. Run as fast as you can. Because if I catch you—" he pauses, letting the words sink in, "—I get to do whatever I want with you."
I don’t want to find out if he’s going to say anything else.
I run.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I turn and sprint into the darkness of the warehouse, my footsteps echoing off concrete and metal, my breath already coming in gasps. The space is enormous, filled with shadows and obstacles. Old machinery looms out of the darkness like sleeping dragons hoarding stacks of junk. Crates are stacked in haphazard towers that create a maze of passages and dead ends. Broken windows high above let in just enough light to see shapes without details, making the maze dangerous for anyone not walking carefully and stepping lightly.
I don’t care and I don't have a plan. I just run.
Behind me, I hear nothing. No footsteps, no breathing, no sound of pursuit. The silence is somehow worse than if I could hear him chasing me. I have no way of knowing where he might be, what direction he might be coming from.
He’s confident he’ll win.
If he wasn’t, he never would have offered in the first place.
No.I push the thought away and run faster, weaving between crates, ducking under low-hanging pipes, trying to put as much distance as possible between us. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, in my temples, in every pulse point of my body.
I can do this. I can escape.I just need to find a way out, find a door or a window or anything that will let me get away from him.
The warehouse seems to go on forever. I turn a corner and find myself in a room that looks like it was used as an officer once—there’s an old desk and chairs, filing cabinets and boxes everywhere. I duck behind the desk and press my back against it, trying to catch my breath and listen.
Still nothing. Just the sound of my own breathing, harsh and loud in the silence.
Where is he?
I peek around the edge of the desk, scanning the darkness. I can't see him anywhere. Maybe he's giving me a head start. Maybe he's playing with me, letting me think I have a chance before he closes in.
Or maybe he's already closer than I think.
The thought sends a fresh spike of adrenaline through me. I push away from the desk and keep moving, trying to stay quiet and use the shadows to my advantage. If I can just find an exit, if I can just get outside, I can get to my apartment, get my identification and go… somewhere.
