Page 76 of Iron Heart

I suck in a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I’m going downstairs now. Locking the door. Give me sixty seconds. Then get out of here.”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Okay. And one more thing.” Dominic swallows, then looks at me with piercing eyes. “Just in case this all goes south, I want you to give Dante a message for me when you see him.”

I shake my head, not wanting to believe things could go the direction he’s implying. Not wanting to believe that he might not make it out of here alive.

“Tori.” His voice is gentle, but firm.

“What’s the message?” I croak.

Dominic hesitates, then glances down at the floor for a second before looking back up at me.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

He leans over and kisses me softly on the cheek. “Okay. It’s go time. You can do this. No noise. Don’t get seen. Get to the ground and run like hell.”

He stands up, turns, and strides quickly across the room, not looking back.

Then, he’s gone.

The lock clicks behind him.

I start to count to sixty, making myself pace out the seconds. As I do, I get up and cross over to the windows. One faces the front and the street below, the other the side of the house. Dominic is right. I’m on the third floor. There’s a roof below the front window onto what must be the front porch. If I can drop down to it without being seen or heard, I can probably jump down from there. But I can’t imagine how not to land on it without making any noise. And Dominic said there’s a guard right inside the door.

The side window is a better bet for not being heard, but the jump is straight to the ground. What if I break my leg, or worse? I won’t be able to run away.

I don’t have any time to think. On impulse, I grab the lift of the side window and pull it open. It’s partly painted shut, but comes loose after a second. I blow out a shaky breath, almost crying with relief. There’s a screen, too, but it’s ripped, and I grab the ripped piece and pull. It’s so old it gives way without too much resistance.

I poke my head out, just a little bit, to look around me. There’s no window directly below me. No one inside the house will see me if I jump from here.

There’s also a large but overgrown bush, down and at an angle.

I make my decision.

As carefully as I can, I ease myself out of the window. The metal of the screen frame digs into the palms of my hands, but I ignore it. When I’m almost through, I lean over, then carefully flip myself onto my stomach. My full weight causes the screen metal to slice into my abs, and I have to stifle a yelp of pain. Pushing myself off, I use all the strength I have in my arms to lower myself as slowly as possible out of the window. My sneakers slip, then find a little traction on the worn siding of the exterior.

Inch by inch, I lower myself as far down as I can, until I’m hanging off the sill, my fingers aching from the hard metal biting into them.

I look down and to my left. The bush looks impossibly far.

But I have to try.

Quietly, I try to dig my feet into the siding a little, then experimentally swing myself to the right, just a bit, letting the momentum carry my back and to the left. One more time, pushing myself right just a little harder.

Then, as I swing back to the left, I let go of the sill, push off with my feet, and brace for impact.

The jolt of my landing feels like my legs have been sent up through my chest. For a second, all the air is pushed out of my lungs, and I can’t breathe. A branch of the bush rips at the flesh of my thigh. I clamp my teeth shut and will myself not to scream, even as a choked gasp rips from my throat.

Blindly, I push myself up onto my feet and try to run. Almost instantly, I stumble and fall as a searing pain shoots through my left ankle. I bite back a yowl and fall to the ground. The agony is intense. There’s no way I can run or even walk like this. If my ankle isn’t broken, it’s at least badly sprained. I won’t make it twenty feet on foot.

Terrified, I go on instinct and drag myself behind the bush. I pull myself into a ball and hug my arms around my knees, being careful not to hurt my injured ankle. I send out a desperate prayer to the universe that I’m invisible from here — or at least unnoticeable. As my breath comes in short, frantic gasps, I stay as still as I can and will myself to calm down. I spend a few precious moments listening for any changes inside. So far no one has come out of the house. Maybe no one heard my fall after all. Maybe if I’m lucky, I can figure out another way to get away. Maybe I should crawl? Is there anyplace close I can crawl to and hide? My eyes dart around, scanning for something — anything — that might hide me.

Suddenly, a shout from upstairs comes through the open window. Shit! It’s an angry male voice, and I don’t think it’s Dominic’s. There’s only seconds until someone leans out to see if they can spot me — and if I can see the window, they can see me behind this bush from above.

Without thinking, I lean forward and get on my hands and knees. Scrabbling, I scramble away from the bush as fast as I can along the side of the house, staying close to the foundation. When I get to the back, I see there’s a crawl space under the back steps, and I immediately slide into it. Just as I manage to get all the way in, there’s more shouting, and some bangs that sound like people being slammed into furniture.

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