Page 71 of Inside the Wicked

“How many?” I ask.

“Six outside, eight inside.”

I can’t risk Ana getting hurt while I take out that many. Especially if those inside hear the gunshots and race up to help.

“The building ...” I contemplate the insanity of my thoughts. “It has wraparound ledges?”

“You’re not seriously thinking ...” Rix trails off too.

We don’t have another option.

I pull Ana along, my adrenaline the driving force drowning everything out.

Back inside, we’re silent as we fall down a level. It’s the closest drop to the first ledge.

“Rhett, what are we doing?” Ana asks.

I can’t answer because I know she’ll panic. She might fight against me doing this, and I’m going to prolong that as much as I can. The window slides up, and I slip one leg through.

“Trust me.” I pull her to me, but she resists. “I won’t let you fall.”

The voices are growing louder up the echoing stairwell. My jaw tightens.

“Please, baby,” I coax.

She’s not good with heights. I understand the safety and prestige of a penthouse apartment, but right now, it’s the worst location.

Ana clutches me for dear life as she slips one leg through, straddling the windowsill with me. My toes barely touch the ledge, which is only the width of my foot.

“I’m scared.” She shudders.

“I’m right here, baby. Be brave for me, okay?”

Ana nods, but her full focus is on the task. I hold her tightly as she maneuvers her other leg through and then lowers until her toes reach the ledge, but her fingers don’t let go of the sill.

“I can’t,” she breathes in a panic.

“Yes, you can, little bird. Let go and shuffle along.”

It takes a few seconds that pound in my chest as we’re so close to being caught. When she’s across enough for me to fit through, I slide out, dragging the window down with me, until it’s only a slither open. Hopefully undetectable to Alistair’s brainless henchmen.

The wall has barely any kind of purchase, and our balance is everything in this desperate, reckless plan.

“If we died this way, that would be really disappointing,” Ana breathes.

Our fronts are pressed to the wall, and I risk slipping one arm around her for further support.

“They could make our story poetic,” I say. “Modern-day Romeo and Juliet.”

“You know Romeo and Juliet?”

“You made me learn about that Shakespeare guy for your debate, remember?”

“I didn’t make you read his plays.”

“I didn’t. There’s a movie, but it was deliriously dull. In fact, I’m still angry at their stupidity.”

Ana chuckles softly. “Don’t make me laugh—my balance isn’t great as it is.”

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