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I narrow my eyes. “Which Mr. McCarthy?”

When he doesn't answer, I push past him. “I need some fresh air.”

“Uh, no.”

“Says who?”

“Says Mr. McCarthy. He told me to keep an eye on you and tell him if you tried to leave.”

“I'm not a prisoner here.”

“That's what he said, but I take orders from him, not you.”

“Oh, is that right?” I tilt my head to the side. I might be a small woman, but I'm not dealing with this bullshit. I turn and walk down the stairs.

“I'm calling Mr. McCarthy.”

I give him the middle finger and keep walking.

There are voices in the kitchen, but I'm not scurrying around like a little mouse, so I walk right into it. Female voices. I trust those a lot more than I trust anybody else right now.

Just one voice, it turns out. Kyla, talking into her phone. When she sees me, she whispers into it and lowers it. I guess more than one person has a secret around here.

She turns to me. “Going somewhere?”

While Bronwyn looks like the most polite person you could imagine, Kyla does not. I like that. I don't trust polite.

I nod.

“Where are you going?”

“Thought I'd take a walk.”

“At this time of morning?”

“I like taking walks alone.” I'm not lying. I haven't been able to do that in a while.

She doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks at me.

“It's not safe to go out there alone. We don't know where your kidnappers are. And if my brother finds out you left, he'd lose his fucking mind.”

“Believe me, I know.”

That makes her smile. I get the distinct impression it's rare.

So I tell her the truth. The bold, honest-to-god truth. What do I have to lose? “I don't want to be here. I don't know your family. I want some time to myself, not socializing with people I didn't choose, in a place I didn't choose.”

“Of course,” she says. “I understand that.” She sets her mug down and looks at me with a very specific kind of look.

“You have money?” she asks.

“Yes, but not on me. How much do you want?” I've been putting money aside in a private account for a very long time. An allowance, carefully divided. My father doesn't know about it. I don't think it ever occurred to him that I would.

She waves a hand. “I don’t want it, silly, just making sure you have enough to go where you want to. And a place to go?”

That question is harder to answer. I stick my chin out. “I can find one.”

“The Boston men won't find you? You sure about that?”