Page 97 of Peyton's Price

Peyton hung her head, trying to take stock. She was going to have to escape without those internet tricks.

Maybe the English jerk had a particularly sharp letter opener? She craned her neck, shifting this way and that until she almost toppled over. The chair was heavier than she would have guessed from its size.

What if I just stand up?She wouldn’t be able to get the cuffs off, but maybe she could get out of this damn chair.

Peyton hadn’t attended a Yoga class in months, but it was surprising how flexible one could be when one was the partner of two virile men. Contorting and wiggling determinedly, she leaned forward until she was balancing on the balls of her feet.

She kept shifting and twisting until the chair slid down a few inches. Then a few more.

Peyton was about to get the damn thing off when footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. Freezing, she considered diving to the floor behind the desk, but she thought better of it at the last second. It wasn’t as if she could make herself invisible. She’d just end up bruised for no reason.

The footsteps receded. Heaving a sigh of relief, she worked the chair past her feet, jumping up and down to get the ropes off. Without the added width of the chair, they slid down easily. The handcuffs were another story. Her wrists were probably bleeding by this point.

Ignoring the pain, she bent, crouching to run the cuffs down her legs. Her arms ached with the effort, but Peyton was able to move her bound wrists over her feet.

“Shit,” she said, examining the deep grooves under the metal. They weren’t bleeding much, but she was going to carry these marks for some time. Tentatively, she tried the door, but it was locked.

She hurried across the room, looking out all the windows to try to determine where she was. The office was in the corner of the second story, overlooking a well-manicured lawn. In the distance, she could see fences and tiny four-legged animals—sheep presumably. They were white. There was no driveway or road visible from these windows, so she guessed she was facing the back of the house.

Craning her neck to see past the drainpipe, she searched in vain for any other buildings. Damn, it looked isolated out there…

She pictured herself running across those bare hills toward civilization only to be gunned down amongst the sheep.Maybe they wouldn’t shoot.Not if they bought the lie that she was pregnant.

If it were a lie…

Peytondidn’t believe she was pregnant. Those birth control shots she had taken had a next-to-nothing failure rate. But she’d experienced some breast tenderness and nausea.You’re just stressed out. It had been a difficult couple of weeks. Still, she would take a test as soon as she was able—just to be certain.

Peyton pressed her head against the glass, trying to see the roof without opening the window. How many stories was this place? Could she climb that drainpipe? What if she didn’t go down but up?

But there was no way she’d manage that trick in these cuffs. Cursing under her breath, she started hunting for something to pick the lock. One of the videos she had watched had shown her how to do it, but now she wished she had practiced.Why didn’t I practice, damn it?

Metal. Must find metal…Two of the desk drawers were locked. The rest were filled papers. Inconsiderately, all conveniently small and bendable pieces of metal had been removed from the room before her arrival.She kept searching until she stumbled on a box on the shelf behind the desk. There was an ornate fountain pen inside. It wasn’t a cheap one, either. The tip was very thick, and it had obviously been used.

How pretentious was this guy? Even Matthias didn’t use a fountain pen.

This was going to have to do it. Peyton fiddled with the pen, trying to get it into the lock, but try as she might, she couldn’t hold it well enough to manipulate it.

Time for plan B. If only she had one of those…

Peyton racked her brain, but no genius ideas came to mind. She groaned. She was going to have to carry out plan A cuffed.Shit.

She needed to buy herself some more time.

Kneeling, Peyton examined the keyhole. To her eyes, it looked weak and flimsy—another antique like the rest of the house. Her second attempt to pick a lock didn’t go any better than the first.

Brute force it is.Praying there was no one near enough to hear, she rammed the pointed end of the pen into the lock with as much strength as she could muster. Then she used the heel of her only shoe to hammer it in as deep as she could.

When the door swung open, Peyton was shocked, but she didn’t stop to dwell on this small victory.

Travis or the Englishman could have heard that. She had to hurry.

* * *

Liam sworeas he spotted the broken charm bracelet on the floor of a van. They had followed the signal for hours, tracing it to a spacious house nestled in the rolling hills of the English countryside. According to online maps, it was the only home for miles.

Afraid they would be spotted before they could get close, they had abandoned the Lotus a half-mile away before trekking over a wooded hill to get close to the house. The van was parked in a converted barn, next to a classic Rolls Royce.

“Calm down,” Mason said. “It doesn’t mean anything. They probably took it off to tie her hands.”

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