The large four-post bed, lavender sheets, and the umpteen pillows piled at the headboard probably cost more money than I pay in rent per month.
Oh, who am I kidding? The sheets probably cost as much as a full year’s rent.
I don’t bother to get up as I glare at the knob on the door.
It’s locked, and I’m trapped in here for God knows how long, with nothing to do but stare at the mostly bare walls. One ornate clock stands next to the door, and a large, framed picture sits centered on the largest wall in the room, but outside of that, only furniture and air are in here.
Gideon said he’d let me out when I calmed down, but what does that mean? Will I have free rein to roam the estate? Is that even safe?
He says I’m here for my own protection, but how am I supposed to believe him?
He’s the villain.
Not my savior.
My brother worked for this man, and I know too many sordid tales to give the guy any passes.
My brother is dead, and he’s the only one with any answers.
Which means I can’t believe a word Gideon says. I can’t trust him or anyone else involved in this world.
It hasn’t even been that long, but it feels like the walls are already closing in around me.
I need an outlet. Something to keep my mind from wandering to who’s after me or how long I’ll be locked in this room. I can’t stay here indefinitely.
I’d rather be free in the real world and playing my cello than locked in this fortress.
My cello.
In the confusion of leaving (i.e., me kicking and screaming), I didn’t pack my belongings. I didn’t bring anything.
How am I going to practice? How will I get into Juilliard if I’m stuck here hiding?
Shit.
“What am I going to do?” I don’t mean for the words to be spoken out loud. These walls probably have ears…and eyes.
That thought gives me chills. Could someone be watching me now? My eyes scan the area, but I see nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that screamscamera.
My gaze skates the room and lands on the window.
I stand from the bed and head over to it. Reaching my hand out, I try to open it. But it won’t budge. It’s stuck, but is that purposeful or coincidental?
The latter is doubtful. It’s probably nailed shut to keep me—or whoever was kept here before—prisoner. It’s one more layer of security for the drug lord.
Fuck. This.
I’m pacing the room, fixating on all the ways I’m well and truly up shit’s creek. This place is a fortress designed to entrap.
I crane my neck to see if I can locate anything else out of the ordinary.
Not that I know what I’m looking for.
I highly doubt Gideon would put an obvious camera in my room.
If anything, it would be hidden and discreet.
My skin crawls. I can feel eyes on me even now.