Artyom snorts out a laugh while I grip my fork tightly and try not to stab anyone with it.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter before grabbing a couple of mugs and filling them up for the two of us.
“I need sugar and milk,” she says when I hand her the mug of black coffee.
I grab her chin and tilt her face to me in a firm enough grip so she knows I’m not fucking around. “I’m losing my patience, sweetheart.”
Her eyes are filled with anger when she looks up at me, but there’s also a good bit of hurt in them, and I know she’s pressing all my buttons because of Chantal. Little does she know that it’s the smiling jackass sitting next to her that fucked her and not me. I give her chin another squeeze before letting her go and grabbing the milk and sugar. Just like last time, I stand next to her at the kitchen island and eat. I have a very nice dining room, but I never seem to use it. I’m always so busy, usually just dropping into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers or to grab a plate of something fresh when Valentina is here. An image of Charlie and I sharing a meal at the polished table with the chandelier above us and the French doors open to let in a nice breeze flashes through my mind, and I quickly shove it away.
God, what’s next? Visions of pregnant bellies and crying babies?
I push my plate aside, no longer hungry, and turn to Artyom. “Tell me you have some good news about the mayor.”
“I’m waiting to hear back from Jinx, but he sounded like he might be onto something when we talked last.”
“Good,” I growl, more than ready to have something positive come my way. Seeing that smug bastard’s face when he realizes that he answers to me now is just what I need to feel better. The thought almost has me smiling as I drag Charlie back to her room and shut the door on her angry, beautiful face.
Chapter7
Charlotte
Iscream at the door in front of me, but all I get in response is the sound of Mikhail’s deep laughter as he walks further down the hall, leaving me locked in my room again. I pace the room, too pissed off to stay still. The sounds of that woman’s moans still fill my damn ears. I can’t believe he fucked her! I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. I’d tricked myself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, he wanted me as badly as I want him, but I know now that I’ve just been making a fool of myself. Just because he got hard under my lap doesn’t mean we’re in a committed relationship or anything. It just means he has a cock and he got horny. I remind myself for the millionth time that I’m not supposed to want him anyway. I mean, the bastard is keeping me here against my will. I shouldnotbe into that.
Flopping down onto the bed, I wait and plan my escape because there’s no way in fuck I’m staying here just so I can listen to him bang other women. I perk up when I hear Mikhail’s muffled voice through the walls. He’s barking out orders again, but then I hear his heavy steps on the stairs and then the sound of a door being slammed shut. A few minutes later, there’s the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle revving to life.
I jump up and run to my window, even though I know it doesn’t overlook the front. I press my ear to the window, hearing the engine grow louder before it starts to fade away. God, I bet he looks sexy as fuck on a motorcycle. I push the image aside and focus on my escape. Unlocking the window, I lift it up and peer out, groaning when I see how high up I am. The wood deck beneath me doesn’t look forgiving at all, and I wonder how many bones I’ll break if things go poorly for me.
Fuck it. I’m not staying here. I rush to the bathroom and change back into my thieving outfit and slip my sneakers back on. My fingers run over the soft fabric of his clothes, and I know it’s stupid, but wearing them had made me feel close to him, and now I’ve lost even that small connection. I think about taking them with me, and then drop that idea immediately because I know it’s stupid. I’ll be lucky to get through this alive and hauling anything extra is just asking for trouble.
I look around the room, desperate for something to use. I check the locked bedroom door, just because I’d feel like a real dumbass if it was actually unlocked, but it’s not, and a quick inspection tells me there’s no way I’m getting out that way. If I had my tools on me, I could unlock it, but Mikhail still has my lock picks. The window is the only option. I eye the bedsheets, knowing it’s a foolhardy plan before I’ve even tried it.
“It’s the only option,” I quietly whisper, working myself up to the insane escape attempt. I’ve seen it in movies. They had to have gotten the idea from somewhere. I hurry up and strip the bed, noticing that the thread count on these babies is way too good to just rip into pieces that I can then tie together. I try, but this shit is top-notch and not budging. Maybe that’ll work in my favor. I won’t have to worry about them shredding as I’m climbing down.
I knot the fitted sheet to the top one and then tie one of the ends around the bedpost before shoving the enormous thing over to the window so I don’t waste any precious sheet length. Plus, there’s no way the whole bed is fitting through the window, so it should safely hold me, and it seems like a better idea than tying it to one of the chairs. After I’ve triple checked the knots, I push out the screen and nearly piss myself when I look down again.
I can do this, I tell myself over and over again. I’m a fucking cat burglar. I’ve broken into places before by climbing trellises and trees, and I can do this too. Just a few minutes of pure, bladder-squeezing horror, and then it’s done. No big deal at all. I toss the sheet out the window and try to see how close it gets to the ground. It’s not touching, but it looks like it’s not too far off the ground.
When I hike my leg over the ledge, I have a moment where I’m convinced I can’t do this, but then I remember that woman’s screams of pleasure, and that’s enough to kick my ass into gear. I grip the sheet and take a deep breath before slowly starting my descent.
“Oh shit!” I squeal when I’ve left the safety of the window ledge and I’m dangling twenty feet off the damn ground. The bright sun hits my eyes, and I close them while I hook my foot around the sheet beneath me and clutch at it like the lifeline it is.
Why the fuck did I think I could do this?
I dangle for what feels like forever before I convince myself that going down would actually be less of a risk than trying to haul my ass back through the window again. My arms are shaking and burning already as I start my very slow descent down. My thighs squeeze tightly together, keeping the sheet locked between them. My whole body feels like it’s on fire, and it seems like it’s taking forever to climb lower.
Finally, I reach the knot where the fitted sheet is tied to the top one, so I know I’m halfway there. My ears are straining for the sound of a motorcycle, and I’m so scared I’m sweating, which is making me worry that I’m going to lose my grip. I chance a look down and then wish I hadn’t. A fall from this height probably wouldn’t kill me, but it could easily break some bones and make me wish I was dead. I don’t even know if his housekeeper and cook are here. If I’m alone and I fall and break a leg, I could be lying here in pain for hours before someone finds me.
I push that grim thought aside and lower myself some more. When my legs hit nothing but air, I let out another yelp and realize I’m almost at the end of my rope in more ways than one. I get as low as I can, and when I’m still hanging far off the ground, I want to just give up and cry. Looking back up at the window I just came out of, I know there’s no way in hell I have the strength to climb back up. My only option is to let go and hope it’s not too far. I wish I could remember how you’re supposed to land to avoid injury. If I try to do some fancy drop-roll, I know it’s just going to result in pain, and possibly a broken neck.
Closing my eyes, I say a quick prayer to whatever deity who may be listening, and then I let go. The landing is hard, ungraceful, and before I can stop it, a shrill, sharp scream escapes when pain shoots up my foot and ankle. I fall on my ass, clutching my knee to my chest and brace myself for the sounds of running footsteps, but nothing happens. No one comes for me. Very carefully, I roll my ankle, wincing at the pain that shoots up my leg, but I’m able to move it, and I think that means nothing is broken. Either way, I can’t stay here, so I slowly haul my ass up and take a careful step, gritting my teeth at how bad it hurts.
As I hobble around the side of the house, keeping an eye out for any of Mikhail’s men, I realize that getting to the ground was the extent of my plan. I hadn’t thought about what I would do once I was free. When I hit the garage and see the side door, a plan starts to form—a plan that could very well get my ass killed. I’m both surprised and not surprised when I try the doorknob and find it unlocked. I mean, what kind of idiot would steal a car from Mikhail Fedorov in broad daylight?
This gal, apparently. I am that idiot. I slowly make my way towards the keys hanging on the wall and look over my choices. They’re all manual transmissions, of course they are, so I grab the Aston Martin’s key fob because at least I’ve ridden inside that one. Lowering myself into the plush leather seat, I let out a nervous exhale. He is going to fucking kill me. Sneaking out of the window was bad enough, but stealing his precious car? Yeah, I’m a dead woman. I shut the door and scoot the seat up so I can reach the pedals. I might as well go all in. Besides, he’s got to catch me first.
I try to remember everything I saw him do yesterday, but I’d tried to keep my eyes off him because he’d looked so sexy driving. I’ve driven a stick shift one time in my life, and it hadn’t gone well. Surely, I can figure it out this time. I push the button on the garage door opener and step on the clutch, wincing at the pain that shoots up my leg, before starting the engine and carefully shifting into first. Very slowly easing off the clutch, I hit the gas and the car lurches forward. It’s not graceful, much like my fall, but I don’t kill the engine, and I am moving, so I’m counting it as a win.
Making the world’s slowest escape, I ease my way down the driveway at a snail’s pace because I’m still too scared to try to shift into second. Once I hit the main road, I have no choice, and when I hear the engine give a painful whine, I know I have to shift, so I step on the clutch again and shift into second. The car lurches and makes a not so great sound, but it’s still going strong. God, Mikhail made it look so easy. His shifts were seamless with no jarring, and mine are nothing like that, but at least I’m getting further and further from his house, even if I can see people laughing as they pass me.