But if there’s another way . . .
Letting out a breath, I meet Aria’s heavy stare. “You really studied the blueprints?”
“Yes. And they were a pain in the ass to get my hands on, by the way.”
“What did you find?”
“Two different options. The first, which is definitely more appealing but riskier, is the old underground tunnels they used in the eighties. The guards apparently used them to get from one block to the other. The only problem is, the only documented entrance is in A-block, and that seems like it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Option two?”
“Option two,” she says with a sigh, scrunching her face up. “The old sewer line.”
My brow arches. Since when is there an old sewer line that runs beneath the prison?
“It was the main sewer they used before the big renovation back in the early 2000s,” Aria continues, seeing the curiosity in my stare. “The main bathroom used to be directly where the kitchen is now, behind the canteen. The blueprints showed some kind of hatch from the kitchen down into the sewer line, but that’s about as much information as I have.”
A hatch? There are a few different options of where it could be, but the bigger issue is trying to get into the kitchen undetected while attempting to slip out, because the only way into the kitchen is through the canteen, and there’s no way I’m waltzing Aria through there. Don’t get me wrong, I can fend off assholes any time of the day, but against those numbers, not even I could help her then.
“Sewer lines are risky. We could be walking through there for hours before finding a way out, and even if we somehow make it to the end, there’s a good chance it’s been locked up.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Your call. I’m just presenting you with the options.”
“Okay,” I finally say, my heart kicking into gear for the first time in seven long years at the mere thought of getting out of this place. We’ll be on the run, but I don’t care. There’s shit I need to do, and with my Polaroids in my pocket, there’s nothing keeping me here a second longer. “Let’s fucking go.”
10
ARIA
This is literal insanity.
My hands shake as I stand alone in the utilities closet, waiting for Stone to return. Is he an actual idiot, or does he just enjoy screwing with me? The last time he left me alone in the roof cavity, I was attacked, and now he thinks it’s a good idea to leave me in a small private room that any of the rioting prisoners have access to? Fuck me.
I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again; Stone Blackthorne is a professional moron.
God, I hate him. I’d give anything to get away from him, but unfortunately for me, Stone is my only chance at survival. Assuming I can somehow evade him after we get out, but I’ve seen the man in action. He’s a machine, and escaping him is going to be next to impossible.
I’m well and truly fucked.
My stomach cramps with uneasiness as I do everything in my power to be quiet, hiding in the corner of the room, crouched down behind a box of extra large orange jumpsuits.
What the hell am I doing here? Accepting this interview was the worst decision of my life. Curiosity really is going to kill the cat.
I keep my head buried in my knees as though that could somehow help me hide, but my world quickly spirals into a sea of panic as the door handle rattles. My heart pounds in my ears as my head snaps back up, watching the door like my life depends on it.
It swings open, and I suck in a breath, my eyes wide like saucers, but as Stone steps back into the small utilities closet, relief pulses through my veins. “Holy fuck,” I murmur.
He glances down at me, his massive body taking up nearly every available space inside the room. “The fuck are you doing down there?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe hiding from the assholes on the other side of the door who want to rape and murder me,” I tell him. “What else was I supposed to do? You left me wide open for anyone to come along and fuck with me.”
He scoffs, watching me struggle to get back to my feet in the cramped space. “And you thought hiding behind a box was going to do what exactly? Your hair is bright fucking orange. They’d see you from a mile away.”
“It’s a deep auburn. Not orange. And . . . shut up. Are we getting out of here or what?”
As if having said the magic words, Stone nods and turns back to the door, his fingers hovering over the handle as if preparing himself to make a run for it. “Be ready,” he tells me.
My brows pinch, and I search his stare, unsure what he expects from me. “For what?”
