Winston nods.
I stand up taller, eager to get moving and make this happen. “Let’s go.”
“What the hell? Are you planning to storm Bishop’s Landing?” Grant asks incredulously.
“Well… yeah.” Of course. My wife is in danger. I have to find her.
And beg for her forgiveness after treating her so terribly. I didn’t trust her when I should’ve, and that’s on me.
Finn’s gaze finds mine. “I’m down.”
A weary sigh leaves Grant and he slowly shakes his head. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Chapter Five
Charlotte
Seamus screams themoment the soup hits his face and I bolt past him, the cheap folding chair falling backwards with a clatter. The bowl lands on the floor with a loud thump, not even cracking and I kick it aside as I make my way toward the door.
It feels like everything is happening in slow motion. The soup flying. Me shooting out of the chair. The door that looked so close only a few seconds before now seems far away. As if I’ll never get close enough to it in time.
“You fucking bitch!” he howls, as I dodge past him. He covers his face that’s dripping with soup with his hands, as if he’s trying to wipe it off. “Jesus Christ!”
My hands tremble as I quickly undo the locks. I’ve got the door open in seconds, slipping out of the apartment and running down the narrow hall, past the other closed doors with numbers on them. It looks like your average apartment building, the interior sparse and gloomy, though it doesn’t necessarily look as old as I originally thought. Just extremely bland.
And cold. So, so cold.
I spot a door at the end of the hall with a sign indicating it’s the stairwell and I push my way through it, running down the stairs so fast I almost trip over my own feet. My breaths are coming in ragged spurts to the point that I’m panting. My head throbs in time with my heart rate and I shake it once, trying to clear it.
I’m thirsty. Confused. Scared. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, spurring me on and when I reach the ground floor, there’s a door that leads outside. I push through it, into the cooling fall night but I don’t slow down.
There’s no choice. I have to keep running.
I move through the parking lot and I spot the car Seamus drove in one of the spots. I keep running, grateful I wore my sweats today. Talk about easy movement. To anyone else I look like a woman out for a jog on a pleasant autumn evening.
Not a woman on a desperate run for her life.
Slowing down only a little, I dare to glance over my shoulder, relieved to see no one is there. No Seamus chasing after me. Gaining on me.
Maybe the soup burned his stupid handsome face. It was pretty damn hot. Or maybe it got into his eyes and he’s having a hard time seeing. Looks like it was enough of a distraction to completely stall him which totally works in my favor.
This doesn’t mean I’m in the clear yet though. I can’t stop running or slow down. So I don’t. I keep going and going, until I’m in a more populated area, though everywhere I look is unfamiliar. There’s a café that appears closed. A couple of clothing shops that are closed as well. A deli is on one side of the street, and a convenience store on the other and when I glance through the convenience store’s glass door, and I don’t know why, but an uneasy feeling slips down my spine. The man standing behind the counter working the register catches my gaze, flashing me a leering smile.
I go with the deli instead.
The moment I walk in, I’m greeted with the scent of warm, fresh baking bread filling the air. A bell rings as the door slams shut and eighties hair metal plays somewhere on hidden speakers. There’s a glass case full of various meats. An old-fashioned looking cash register sits on the counter and there are small tables and chairs filling the dining space, but no one sitting in them.
There doesn’t seem to be anyone around at all.
I dart out of the way of the front glass door and stand next to a display rack full of a variety of chips, trying to take deep, cleansing breaths. My heart rate slowly settles back down to normal and I start pacing back and forth, waiting for someone to appear.
“Oh.”
I turn at the sound of the deep gravelly voice, fear wrapping around my throat and choking me into silence.
There’s a short, older man standing behind the counter, his thick brows shooting up when he spots me. “I didn’t hear you come in. Are you wanting to place an order, honey?”
“Um.” My stomach chooses that moment to growl, but I have no money. No phone. No nothing. “I was wondering if I could—borrow your phone for a moment?”