Page 206 of Stalking Ginevra

I shake my leg, letting the metal fall to the concrete with a clatter. Every muscle groans in protest as I haul my body to standing, and my breath comes in ragged bursts.

This is it—I’m free, but it’s too early to celebrate. One misstep, and I’ll be back in chains.

Clutching together the edges of my room service shirt, I rush across the basement. The large key between my fingers feels heavier with each frantic second as if hesitating will trap my soul in this hellhole for an eternity.

I reach the door, slip the key in its lock, and give it a tentative twist. It grinds against the door’s rusty levers, creating a sound that slices through the dull roar of blood between my ears.

Turning the handle, I pull open the door and peek into a narrow stairwell. A low-wattage bulb casts dim light over the steps ascending into darkness. I creep out into a landing made of rough concrete, just as a deep groan drifts through the ceiling.

Shit.

It’s accompanied by a feminine moan that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Shaking off the disgust, I grip the railing and continue upward.

The wood warps beneath my weight, filling the stairwell with a groan. In my frazzled state, it may as well be a fire alarm. I freeze, my breath catching, my eyes snapping to the top of the stairs. That’s where a door looms, half open and waiting.

“One… two… three,” I whisper under my breath. “Move.”

I step forward, timing each footfall with Valentino’s deep moans, placing my weight on the rail. The cold air thickens with every step, the house seeming alive with its own malevolent heartbeat.

Common sense says they can’t hear a thing over the sounds of their pleasure, but paranoia urges me to stay cautious. My vision tunnels to the gap straight ahead, focusing on that sliver of freedom.

As I reach the top, the noises stops. My hand freezes on the doorknob. Frantic heartbeats pulse blood to my extremities, making my fingertips throb. Then Carla lets out a keening wail that echoes down the stairwell. The sound covers my exit, and I burst into the downstairs corridor.

It’s late morning. I can tell as much from the slivers of bright light slicing through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. Maybe it’s my PTSD, but this hallway looks entirely different from the one we entered last night.

Gritting my teeth, I stumble through the door, only to find faint beams of red illuminating the dust particles. It looks like a scene from Mission Impossible, but without the jarring sounds of sex.

My heart stalls. I glance at a camera mounted on the ceiling, its faint whirring barely audible over the drumroll of my pulse. Panic claws at my throat, but I force it back. There’s no way in heaven, hell, or Hogwarts that I’ll return to that basement.

Dropping to my belly, I slip the keys between my teeth, flatten my body against the floorboards, and ignore how much I ache. With bent elbows, I crawl across the rotten wood, my exposed skin catching on splinters.

I keep my head low, my chin tucked into my chest to avoid lifting even an inch too high and nicking one of those beams.

The floor shifts beneath my limbs, but I continue forward, timing my movements with the rhythmic creak of a bed and Carla’s unsettling moans.

Sweat beads on my forehead, mingling with the dust and dirt, blurring my vision as I focus on the end of the hallway. My heart pounds so fiercely I swear it echoes off the walls, but it’s a twisted comfort that their disgusting noises mask my clumsy escape.

The sounds from upstairs keep spilling down, louder and more frantic. Eventually, I reach the small patch of space in front of the door not covered by the sensors and ease my way up.

My chest heaves, and adrenaline courses through my veins as I pluck the keys from between my lips. I unlatch the door, ease it open, and freeze.

The deserted street is gone, replaced by a clearing of weeds, surrounded by dense woods. My mind spins, trying to piece together what’s wrong.

Last night, Carla parked on a road of detached houses. How the hell did I end up in a forest?

It doesn’t matter. I’m out, and I need to move. Rushing down the steps on bare feet, I reach a cracked path bisecting the untamed yard. I jog forward, just as a dog’s bark shatters the silence.

A window slams open, and I whirl around to see Valentino leaning out with a gun. “Freeze!” he growls, “Or I’ll deliver you to Montesano as a corpse.”

NINETY-FOUR

GINEVRA

I stagger backward, my feet shuffling through weeds and loose gravel. Somewhere in my periphery, a black dog lurches in my direction, but every ounce of my attention is locked on the window above.

Valentino leans out waving his gun, his gray hair sticking to his flushed face. “How the fuck did you get past the sensors? Better still, how the hell did you escape a locked basement?”

My heart slams against its cage, trying to break through my chest. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I know he isn’t bluffing. If he can murder his wives for a life insurance payout, he sure as hell can shoot me in the back.

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