I have been tossing and turning all night. My mind has been buzzing far too loudly to allow any sleep.
I peer blearily toward the window, spotting cheery blue sky between the slats. There is no point even trying to sleep anymore. I heft myself out of bed and there is a twinge of pain in my wrists. I lift and inspect them, noting the pale ribbon of purple bruising from the zip-tie. The memory of last night should repulse me but instead my tummy flutters. I want to do it again.
I slide out of bed and pad toward the nursery, where I find Harry sleeping like a log. He hasn’t slept this soundly in weeks, even after we ditched the lumpy hotel mattresses for Debbie’s luxury apartment. That tells me everything I need to know—this is home to Harry. He’s comfortable here.
I try not to take it personally, but it’s hard not to.
I head back into my room and stare at each of the walls in turn. My prison is painted a lovely lilac with white trim. All the furniture is white, too, and consists of a long desk, a chest of drawers, and a leather chair. If they decorated actual prisons in soothing pastel tones, I’m positive there would be a notable reduction in violence. It’s hard to be angry in such a lovely environment, and I struggle to claw on to my rage but feel it slip further and further away.
Much as I resent Gabriel for keeping me here, it is a good deal more comfortable than anywhere else I have stayed since, and Harry is undeniably in the safest possible place he could be.
None of that, however, makes me feel any less trapped.
Feeling ballsy, I creep to the door and rest my hand on the knob. I picture myself opening it and being instantly knocked to the ground by Gabriel’s overzealous security staff, desperate to avoid being the one who allows my escape for the second time.
Who am I kidding? It’s probably locked. Gabriel wouldn’t take that chance.
I turn the knob and am shocked when the door glides open. I pause, waiting for a reaction from the guards who I know must be in the hall outside, but nothing. I tiptoe forward and stick my head through the gap. When I look to the right, a guard with big bushy eyebrows, who I recognize as Angelo, is staring at me, one eyebrow cocked.
Feeling brave, I saunter right out into the hall. Angelo stands a little straighter, and the guard on the other side of the doorway does the same, but neither of them demand I go back into the room.
I test my boundaries, passing Angelo and continuing down the hall. I pause at the end, glancing back at him, and point down the hall as if to say, I’m going thataway. He doesn’t stop me.
Okay, so I have a little more freedom than I thought. If I try to escape I know that neither of the two guards would waste any time tackling me to the dirt, but at least I’m allowed to amble around the house.
I do a catwalk-worthy turn and sashay back to my room. I notice Angelo trying to hide his smile. I wink as I pass, and his chuckle is the last thing I hear before I close the door.
I head for the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the room fill with steam as I strip out of my pajamas. This discovery is a weight lifted from my shoulders. I’m not stuck in my room. I can deal with being confined to the mansion, that’s not a problem.
Gabriel has made a massive mistake in bringing me here and an even bigger one in allowing me free rein. He doesn’t know I’m investigating the purple heroin crisis. I want to cackle with laughter, but considering that kind of bizarre behavior is sure to be reported to my keeper, I just indulge in a cat-like smile as I step under the spray of hot water.
I am going to make Gabriel rue the day he ever thought he could control me.
The next time I leave my room, it is with clean, lavender-scented hair and a purpose. I nod to Angelo and the other guard, then take off down the hall, keeping my footsteps as light as possible. I slow as I near Gabriel’s office and hear voices through the door.
The aim of my wandering is ostensibly to stretch my legs, but if I see