West clasps me on the shoulder, and I wince until he loosens his grip and mutters an apology. After almost losing my team in the ambush, I spent a solid month in the hospital and rehab before I could walk more than a few steps at a time or lift a cup of coffee with my right hand.
“Get back to Cam,” I say through gritted teeth. Murphy presses his body to my legs, and I force myself to breathe through the pain that’s more in my head than my limbs. “I won’t disappear.”
In truth, that’s exactly what I want to do. Why I came up here. But West—and his team—pulled so many strings for me, they could weave a goddamn blanket if they wanted to. I purchased the land, but the construction, the security system, the solar panels…that was their doing.
All because seven years ago, I was part of the team that pulled Ryker McCabe out from under a snow-covered bush eight clicks from Hell Mountain. And ten days later, dragged Kahlid—Hell’s head torturer—from his hidey hole so Ryker and Dax Holloway, his brother in arms, could kill the man.
Once all my shit is put away—well after sunset—I crack open a beer and sink down onto the sofa. Murphy lies in front of the wood stove, basking in its warmth.
“This is ours, pal,” I say quietly, toasting my best friend. He’s the only reason I survived as long as I did in Seattle. Without him by my side, the panic attacks, the nightmares, the constant memories? They would have been too much. “No more sidewalks. No more people. No more constant noise. Just you and me and miles of nowhere to explore.”
With a couple solid thumps of his tail, he lets me know he may not understand my words, but he’s with me no matter what.
1
Hope
The tube of concealer slips from my trembling fingers and the rosy tinted liquid splatters onto the pristine white marble countertop. “Shit.” The bruises around my throat are mostly hidden, but now I have a mess to clean up.
A soft knock startles me as I run a washcloth under the faucet, and I yelp.
“It’s me.” Bettina—one of the housekeepers—slips through the bathroom door and shuts it behind her. “Mr. Simon left. He told Mr. Brix he would be back tomorrow.”
I lean against the sink, relief making my muscles quiver and my eyes burn. Every time I swallow, I feel Simon’s fingers digging into my neck, remember the look in his eyes as he squeezed hard enough I couldn’t breathe.
“Miss Hope?” Bettina touches my arm. “Mr. Brix is in the gym for another thirty minutes. I can make sure no one goes near Mr. Simon’s office. Now is your best chance.” She reaches into the pocket of her uniform and pulls out a small memory card the size of my thumbnail. “This is what you needed, yes?”
I stare at the tiny piece of plastic in awe before I pluck it from her hand. “You found one.”
“You were right. The grocery store had them. I snuck it in with the vegetables.” The petite woman tucks a lock of black hair behind her ear. The swelling under her eye is better today, but she holds her left arm tight to her body. Simon twisted it so hard last week, I heard something snap. She can’t go to the hospital—even if he did allow her to leave the house unsupervised. He keeps her passport locked in his safe, and her visa expired years ago. Long before she aged out of the biggest brothel in Salt Lake City and came to work at his compound. If her younger sister weren’t one of his more popular girls, she’d already be dead.
“Come with me,” I whisper. “He nearly broke your arm for talking to me. If he finds out you helped me escape, he’ll kill you.”
A single tear tumbles down her cheek. “I have no future, Miss Hope. I will never be…free. I have to stay close to my sister. She is all I have.” Her eyes brim with tears, and she takes a step back. “Go now. I will do what I can.”
I hug Bettina. A quick, fierce embrace. “If I live past tomorrow, it’s because of you. I’ll come back. When I have help. I’ll get you out. I promise.”
She offers me a small, wobbly smile, then wipes her eyes. “Vaya con Dios, Miss Hope. Do not worry for me.”
As soon as Bettina leaves, I rush back into my bedroom, grab a small nail file, and drop to my knees in front of the heating vent. It takes me ten seconds to pry the metal cover from the wall—a move I’ve practiced dozens of times.
The only thing I still own in this world—a leather make-up pouch—holds close to five hundred dollars. Money stolen from Simon’s wallet a few bills at a time over the past two years. My lifeline. In case I ever worked up the courage to leave.
If I’m lucky, it’ll be enough to get me to Seattle. If not…I’ll be dead. Assuming no one finds me in Simon’s office first.
Tiptoeing down the stairs, I force myself to breathe when I round the corner. The house is quiet. Empty. Half a dozen guards patrol the perimeter of the compound—just inside the twelve-foot wall surrounding the whole place—but they never come inside unless Simon’s here. Brix must still be in the gym. Closing myself in the office, I rest my back against the door. Thank God the laptop is still here.
“Everything you need is on this computer, Hope. It is not connected to the internet, so don’t get any ideas. When you need information from the bank, you will ask me and I will get it for you. Understood?” Simon digs his fingers into my shoulders, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.
“Y-yes. Please. You’re hurting me.”
He releases me and shoves my chair forward. “Get to work.”
Every room in his house holds terrible memories, but I can’t dwell on them now. I have to hurry.
Bettina’s vacuum hums in the hall. She’ll make a fuss if anyone comes.
Move, Hope. One foot in front of the other.
