Page 33 of Auctioned

Just. Run.

What for?

I’m outnumbered. Outmatched.

This isn’t the time to fail.

James might have shown me his somewhat softer side yesterday. There wasn’t just violence and insanity in his expression, in his voice. In his touch. He was part human. Somewhere, down there.

He was also extremely determined to prove that he was going through with this, no matter what.

I can’t count on him. I can’t count on any of the guards not to shoot me on sight.

What’s left for me to do then?

Two things.

First is beg. Maisie is the weakest link. Not weak in the sense of powerlessness. Weak as in I can exploit her meekness. She hasn’t looked me in the eye since she walked inside my cell.

She still isn’t looking at me when she’s back, placing the hot wax and strips on the table next to me. She might even care about me. Might hate what they’re doing here.

I could convince her to help. She has to know of a secret passage.

That might fail, though. If it does, there’s the riskier option of the two—make a run for it on the way to my buyer’s home. But that could be too late. They might handcuff me to their car.

Let’s pray the first one works.

Clara passes Poppy a pair of tweezers. In her other hand, she’s holding on to the silver bowl and a cloth hanging from the rim.

Maisie’s eyes are glued to the floor.

This is it. The right moment. My chance to get out of here.

I swing my hand to the side.

Hot wax splashes on the table, just a small portion. The rest cascades down to the floor, the pouring containerclinkingandclankingas it hits the stone tiles.

“Oh, no!” Poppy is quick. In hurried small steps, she rushes to the accident site, no doubt about to clean it up.

“I’ll go get cleaning products.” Clara rushes out of the room. “And a new batch of wax,” she murmurs to herself.

It doesn’t escape me that she hasn’t reprimanded Maisie. I bet she thinks pointing fingers is a waste of time.

Or maybe she wants her colleague to stay alive.

“Crap.” Maisie is flushed and frozen for a split second. She’s about to sink to the floor and help Poppy the next.

The fuck she is. I reach out, fingernails digging into her bicep. With the last ounce of strength I have, I drag her to me.

Her hands fly to balance herself on the bed. Her pupils are huge, her mouth gaping.

Deer caught in the headlights.

I hear Poppy down there, scrubbing furiously. She must be cleaning the mess I made with the wet cloth that she brought for me.

Doesn’t matter. What’s important is she isn’t paying attention to us.

I yank Maisie closer, lifting my head so she can’t miss it when I mouth,Help me.

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