For a second—one terrifying, insanity-inducing second—I wanted him to kiss me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, a wave of nausea rolling over me.
What is wrong with you?I scream internally.He’s a killer. He kidnapped you and threatened to blackmail your father.
And you’re standing here trembling because he pressed his hips against yours?
It’s a trauma bond. A survival instinct wired wrong. The mind clinging to the only solid thing in a dissolving world. It’s weakness. And I can’t afford to be weak.
I open my eyes and look at the balcony door and the main door leading to the elevator. I need to find a way out.
Cassian is meticulous. He’s a machine. But before he left for the basement, he stood out there in the rain. When he came back inside, his hands were shaking.
I creep toward the glass and reach for the brushed steel lever. I turn it, but it doesn’t budge. The magnetic lock is engaged.
Cassian doesn’t make mistakes.
But neither do I.
I turn back to the room, my eyes sweeping the dark slate floor until they land on the shattered crystal decanter. I drop to my knees, ignoring the sharp sting as a fragment bites into my shin, and grab a long, razor-thin shard of the heavy crystal.
I run back to the door. Pulling the oversized sleeve of Cassian’s shirt down over my hand to protect my palm, I wedge the glass shard into the millimeter of space between the heavy pane and the frame. I slide it upward, hunting for the magnetic catch.
Snap.
The crystal shatters inside the thick cotton sleeve, leaving my skin untouched, but the mechanical override trips with a heavy, metallicclunk.
The lock is severed. This is my opening. My one chance to escape before I’m shuffled to another luxury cell.
I push the glass open an inch. The wind hisses through the gap.
I look down at my bare legs and the thin cotton shirt. I won’t survive the woods like this.
I pull a heavy canvas jacket from the open closet, zipping it to my chin. I spot a pair of men’s running shoes by the hallway entrance and shove my feet inside. They swallow my ankles, but I lace them tight, doubling the knots so they don't slip off my heels.
I widen the gap in the sliding glass door and step out onto the balcony, pulling the heavy pane shut behind me to seal the room.
The wind hits me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. The freezing rain instantly begins to soak through the heavy canvas jacket.
I creep to the edge of the terrace and look over the railing. The drop to the grounds is at least forty feet. Beyond the stone wall, the cliff plummets another three hundred feet into the churning black ocean.
Go back,my brain screams.Go back inside. It’s warm. It’s safe.
No. Cassian is the danger. He said the men at the gate want to use me to break him. He’s lying. He has to be. My father loves me. He’s sending a rescue team. I have to get to the road.
I scan the perimeter of the balcony. Tucked into the far corner, recessed into the stone to hide it from the ocean winds, is a narrow, grated iron staircase zigzagging into the dark.
I scramble over to it.
I take one step down. The oversized sneakers catch on the iron lip of the grate. I pitch forward, barely catching the wet railing as my feet slide out from under me.
The shoes are a death trap. I can’t climb in them.
I kick the sneakers off. They tumble down the iron stairs, clattering into the darkness.
I grip the freezing iron railing and start down barefoot.
The descent is a nightmare. The grated iron bites into the soles of my feet, cold and sharp. The wind batters me, whipping my hair into my eyes, trying to pry my frozen fingers off the handrail.
