Page 40 of Blood Revealed

When I’m finished and figure if I spend too much more time in here, Escalante will get suspicious, I pull open the door to Goon One still standing next to the opening, his arms crossed.

“He’s ordered you food. You are to eat,” he says, and a terrible Cheshire Cat smile spreads across his face that I don’t trust one bit. “If you don’t, I’m allowed to make you,” he finishes.

I nod, not giving him the fight that he thinks he’s going to have, and walk over to the table. Again carved, dark wood. It’s gorgeous. Taking a seat, I casually ask, “Willel maestrobe joining me?”

The asshole laughs. “Nah. Not tonight. He’s pissed you forced him to smack you around. You being his prize and all. Now me? I’d smack you around while I was fucking you just so you didn’t get any ideas that you’re special—but that’s just me.”

He doesn’t get the response he clearly wanted from throwing out that little barb. But I won’t cower to him. Instead, I simply load my plate with fruit, cheeses, crusty bread, and other delicacies.

At the end of the meal, I change into the clean, red satin nightie that Escalante has requested I wear to bed and I climb in. If Goon One is here with me, then Goon Two has to be with Escalante because he’d never go anywhere without protection.

I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. Goon One moves to the sofa to sit down and turns on the television. After about an hour of lying with my eyes closed anding at the clock, listening diligently, the goon gets a phone call.

He moves from the sofa to step outside the front door of the bungalow. It’s dark, but this is my chance. I tuck pillows under the blanket to give the brief appearance of a body and quietly slip over to the bathroom. Without even giving off the tiniest click from the door and lock engaging, I pad over to the commode, stand on the seat, and unlock the window. There’s a screen to remove. I shove my fingernail through the mesh to create a hole that I then tear at until I’ve torn out all the screen mesh.

I grab on to the window and heft myself over to the slight sill, then bend forward and walk with my hands down the side wall, pressing my feet against the wood to keep me from falling forward. It’s a complicated maneuver that most wouldn’t be able to execute. Once I’m down, I right myself, pressing against the wall, and walk first to see if the goon still stands outside guarding the front door. Then I walk to check the opposite way and the coast is clear. There must be only one door in the bungalow to not have the back guarded.

Running low to the ground with the damp, lush grass cold against my bare feet, I take off not toward the beach, that’s too open, but in the direction of the golf course, which should be empty this time of night. In the distance I see what can only be the groundskeeper’s hut. Checking to make sure no one is around, I run across the expanse of grass until I reach it, collapsing under the window to give myself a chance to catch my breath. When I feel ready, I stand and peek inside. It’s shut down for the night. But I see a phone on a desk.

Right. Time to get to business. The door is locked, which sucks, but that’s a minor setback. I pull off the nightie and wrap it around my arm as I sneak around to the window on the farthest side of the hut, the side least likely to get me seen. Using the nightie to somewhat muffle the sound of breaking the glass and protect my hand, I use every bit of force I can muster to punch a hole in the glass. It takes two tries but I’m able to slide my arm through the hole in order to reach the latch and unlock the window.

My arm catches a sharp point on the way out that slices my skin and even though it hurts like a mother, I don’t make a sound. The only place to land once I crawl through the window is onto the floor with the broken glass. Pieces get embedded in my feet, cutting those too. Despite that, I reach the phone and try as hard as I can to remember Raif’s number. I usually just hit his contact.

Think, Hannah. Think.After a few precious moments wasted, I remember the number and push it into the number pad on the desk phone. It rings twice and then I hear the sweetest sound in the world.

“Who’s this?” Blood asks.

“Raif,” I whisper.

“Hannah? Hannah, baby? How are you? Where are you? Fuck…”

“He has me. I think we’re at a private resort on the gulf coast, but I don’t know where. I escaped. I’m hiding in the groundskeeper’s hut. Oh.” I sniffle, trying to hold back the tears. “I don’t know who I can trust. He has his goons.”

“Breathe, baby. I’m coming for you. Are you hurt?”

“Some cuts and bruising. But I’m in nothing but my bra and panties and I don’t—”

“Shh…” he says and the way he says it, so loving, so reassuring, calms me down. “I promise, baby. I’m coming for you. Just lie low. Is there a closet you can hide in?”

I hear clicking on his end. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Looking up private resorts. It’s not a private residence; therefore, it must be listed somewhere.”

He’s so smart.

“It would be the most expensive—the most exclusive,” I direct him. “Maybe target your search there?”

A bit more clicking from his end and then. “Looks like he’s got you in Mississippi. I’d stake my life on it.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Stay hidden, baby. I’m only a few hours from you. We’ve been all over the west trying to get to Elise. She’s safe. When Caity contacted us, the uninjured brothers rode out.”

“She’s safe?” I ask, ready to sob with relief.

“Elise is safe. The other old ladies are safe. They headed back to Missouri, I kept going in the direction Frankie said they took you hoping like fuck I’d find a lead to get me to you.”

“Please hurry. If he finds me…”

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