The door closes, and I hear the lock engage.
A simple bathroom lock, not the heavy dead bolt that confines me to my bedroom.
I press my ear to the door, listening to his retreating footsteps.
His voice, low and controlled, answers the phone in Russian as he moves farther away.
I count to sixty to ensure he’s settled into his call before I act.
With shaky fingers, I extract the bobby pin. My knowledge comes entirely from TV shows and that one weird phase when Ashley dated a locksmith a few years ago. But desperation is a powerful teacher.
I slide the pin into the lock, feeling for the mechanism inside. My hands tremble so badly at first that the metal scrapes against the keyhole, triggering a sound that seems thunderous in the silent house. I freeze, waiting for Kirill’s return.
Nothing.
Just the faint murmur of his voice from a distant room.
I try again, wrapping my hand around the knob as a kind of muffler.
I focus on the feel of metal against metal. The tiny clicks and catches.
Sweat beads on my forehead and drips down my back. My breath comes in shallow gasps that I force myself to control. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Stay centered. Stay present.
The lock finally gives a little.
I apply pressure, twisting the pin with quivering fingers, and feel another movement. Then a shift.
The lock disengages.
I pause, listening.
Kirill’s steady, unalarmed voice continues.
I ease the door open, wincing at the slightest creak of hinges. The dim, empty hallway stretches before me. I sneak out, careful to walk along the sides, close to the wall where the floor’s less likely to creak.
Through the living room and past the kitchen. Every step a potential betrayal, every heartbeat a countdown. I slide along the rooms, halting at corners to listen. Kirill’s voice grows fainter as I put more distance between us. He must be in the office at the back of the house.
I force myself to walk slowly. If I run, I might trip, and if I trip, he’s going to hear me fall.
I will not squander this chance.
After so long, I finally glimpse freedom in the form of an unfortunately heavy and imposing front door with multiple locks.
Three levers and one knob stand in the way of liberty.
Pressing my body against the thick wood, I turn the locks, one after the other. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out all other noise.
If Kirill finds me now…
The image of those men on the ground flashes behind my eyes, but I shove the memory aside as the last lock clicks out of place.
Carefully, I crack the door open just wide enough to slip through.
Cool evening air kisses my face, whispering promises of distance and safety. Without glancing back, I slip through the opening and pull the door closed behind me.
I venture into the night, barefoot and terrified, but finally, gloriously free.
Chapter 12
