Page 10 of The Oscar Escape
Her cell pinged another alert. If she were in a reasonable state of mind, she’d turn off her phone, follow Dom’s instructions, and give her body and mind a break.
Regrettably, she wasn’t feeling so reasonable. In fact, she could barely sit still. Grating irritation and the heady rush from her power drink, plus the pink and green medicinal buffet, had her wired and itching for a fight. She opened the alert and was directed to a social media post. A grainy video played. Lights flashed, and music blared as her boyfriend grinned like an idiot while sandwiched between his blonde entourage.
“Looks like you’re having a good time tonight, Justin,” someone commented over the thrum of a techno beat.
Justin’s million-dollar smile widened. “I always have a good time.”
“Where’s Aria?” came another voice.
A smirk twisted Justin’s lips. “Aria, who?” he crooned, as his blonde sidekicks giggled.
The nerve of this guy.
She made a note of the timestamp and location of the recording.
The video was posted minutes ago.
She tapped the location, then activated her navigation app.
He was at a club a mere six blocks from the concert venue.
“Gotcha,” she snarled, then tapped her foot five times, resurrecting the secret foot tap language she, Phoebe, Sebastian, and Oscar had used as kids when they wanted to call somebody a bad word. Five taps equaled the kid version of the worst of the worst insults—butthole douche nozzle.
One tap for each syllable, and it fit Justin to a T.
Between the whiskey, the cold medicine, whatever the hell pills she’d wolfed down, and the caffeine-packed sugar-laden energy drink, her second wind hit like a sledgehammer. Fueled by the crazy concoction, she was flying high and ready to kick some ass—some boy band ass. She grabbed her notebook, then swiped a pink highlighter off the table. She didn’t go anywhere without the items. She spied the bonbon. “You’re coming, too, my chocolaty friend,” she said, wrapping the treat in a tissue, then stuffing it in her cleavage.
Moving like a prisoner who’d discovered an escape tunnel behind a few loose bricks, she pressed her ear to the door. The corridor was silent. Nobody was headed her way—at least for the time being. She bolted across the room to the window, released the latch, and lifted the heavy glass. The October air greeted her with a chilly hello that sent an energizing zing down her spine. She stuck her head out and peered into an empty alleyway.
“What do you know,” she whispered-slurred.
Not a soul to be found and no security in sight. Her pulse kicked into overdrive. It was as if the universe had choreographed the perfect escape.
She maneuvered her body out the window and onto a landing.And bingo!Part two of her escape was right in front of her. She eyed a ladder fixed to the side of the building, then did another sweep of the darkened sliver of pavement two stories below.
Should she be doing this?
A thread of doubt wove itself around her heart. Dom would not be pleased with her plan, but she couldn’t sit still. She pictured Justin’s shit-eating expression and replayed his words in her head.
Aria who?
The doubt in her heart morphed into full-on revenge-fueled fury.
Mr. Boy Band was about to learn a damned important lesson.
Nobody messed with Aria Paige-Grant and got away with it.
Despite the world taking on a fuzzy aura and the fact that she couldn’t exactly feel the tip of her nose, a devious smile curled her lips. “Can’t remember me, lover boy?” she whispered into the night air. “Not to worry—your ass is about to get a not-so-subtle reminder.”
Chapter3
OSCAR
Oscar checked his watch, observing as it ticked from 10:22 p.m. to 10:23 p.m.
“One, zero, two, three,” he whispered and touched the ring that hung from a chain around his neck. It usually brought him comfort to feel the bit of silver and gold that rested next to his heart. But not today. Not after the last couple of weeks. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d made a judgment call, a choice, an action that couldn’t be undone. Was it the right thing to do? Only time would tell. Would he find peace? No. Unfortunately, there was no reprieve in sight. And thanks to his buzzing phone, he was about to get another heaping scoop of frustration added to the already heavy load.
His eyes adjusted as the light from his cell illuminated the inside of his pickup truck’s darkened cab. A new text had rolled in. These last few weeks, he’d left his phone on silent mode. But he couldn’t ignore this message. He reread the sender’s name, sighed, then lit a cigarette. He took a slow drag and exhaled, wishing he could expel his gnawing frustration along with the smoke. Now, should he be smoking? No, of course not. He’d quit a couple of years ago. But the stress of the last two weeks had him stretched thin. He needed something for his hands to do to pass the time and keep himself from going stir-crazy.
