The elevator dings, signaling its arrival. My heart skips a beat.
The doors hiss open like a serpent, but the compartment’s empty.Fuck yes.I step in, the dress clinging to me like a needy lover. My eyes dart to the panel, searching for an escape route. No lobby, no ground floor, but there, like a goddamn beacon in the darkness, is“B.”Basement. My ticket outta here.
As the elevator descends, so does my heart. I tense up, muscles tensing like a loaded spring. One wrong move, and I’m fucked. But I’m not going down without a fight.
The doors slide open with a low hum, revealing a dim, sterile corridor. Concrete floors stretch into the shadows, the air heavy with the scent of must and decay. I step out, every sense on high alert. No footsteps. No voices. Where the fuck are the guards? My skin prickles with unease.
This has “trap” written all over it.
A door beckons, its crimson EXIT sign a beacon of hope.Too fucking easy, my mind screams. But with no other options, I inch closer, the handle slick with sweat beneath my clammy palm. It turns.
Cold air rushes in, caressing my skin like a ghost’s breath. Before me, a sea of shining cars, an empty parking garage in the heart of the beast. I scan the area, eyes darting from one car to the next.
Keys. I need keys.
I weave between the cars, keeping low, like a predator on the hunt. The dress chafes against my thighs, the friction hot and uncomfortable, but I grit my teeth and press on. My feet slap against the cold concrete, the sound echoing in the silence like a goddamn alarm.
Just as I think I’m in the clear, the silence is shattered by voices—men, their laughter a thorny barb of panic in my gut. They’re getting closer. Without a second thought, I dive behind a black SUV, curling into a tight ball, every muscle tense and coiled. My breath catches in my chest as two suited goons saunter by, oblivious to the escaped prisoner hidden mere inches away.
The guards shift like meaty fucking puppets, their fingers punching the control panel like they’ve got something to prove. The basement door grinds open, a barrage of light and noise exploding in my face like a goddamn flashbang. Freedom’s staring me down like a fucking dare.
No keys, but I’mnotgiving up yet. I slither along the cars like a venomous snake, scanning the area. That’s when I spot them— A row of five Ducati Panigale V4 bikes scream for attention.
They sit there like tempting, wheeled stallions, waiting for me to mount up and ride into the sunset.
I slink along the ground like a cat stalking its prey, my eyes fixed on the bikes ahead. But just as I’m about to make my move, my cursed gown betrays me, the fabric catching on the tire of a nearby Ducati like a goddamn anchor.
“Fuck this shit,” I whisper a curse, wriggling like a contortionist to adjust the dress and tear the hem off, the rip of the fabric ringing in my ears.
That was too goddamn loud.
One of the guards calls out, his heavy footsteps drawing closer.
The adrenaline surges, making my heart thrum like a fucking jackhammer. The gate starts to close.
Fuck. No!
I’m out of time. With a burst of speed, I launch myself toward the Ducati; the key glistens in the lock.
Hell, yes!
The engine roars to life beneath me, a primal scream that matches the rush in my veins. I slam the helmet on, the visor fogging with my heavy breath.
“Hey! Stop right there!” a goon’s voice booms behind me.
Fat fucking chance.
I gun it. The Ducati leaps forward like a caged beast finally set free. Wind whips against my nearly naked body, but I couldn’t give less of a shit right now.
The gate’s almost closed. A sliver of daylight taunts me.
Come on, baby.
I lean low, becoming one with the bike. We shoot through the narrowing gap, my elbow scraping the metal. Pain flares, but it’s nothing compared to the euphoria of freedom.
I’m out. Holy shit, I’m actually out.
But it ain’t over yet. In my mirrors, two black SUVs burst from the garage like angry bulls.
