Page 52 of Auctioned Innocence
My bare feet make no sound on the thick carpet—another cruel touch from Madame Rouge, keeping us shoeless to reinforce our vulnerability, our inability to escape.
But tonight it works to my advantage, allowing me to move silently through the corridors.
Maisie meets me at the predetermined spot—the linen closet near the service elevator—breathing hard.
Her eyes are wide, stress evident in her trembling hands.
“Got his keycard,” she pants, holding up the stolen prize.
The plastic rectangle looks so ordinary for something so valuable. “Took out my guard but he managed to hit the alarm button. We’ve got maybe two minutes before they realize it’s not a false alarm?—”
“This way.” I grab her hand, pulling her toward the service stairs I memorized from watching the staff during my days of captivity.
I’ve been mapping this place mentally since I arrived, marking every exit, every rotation, every potential escape route.
Down is too obvious—they’ll expect us to head for ground level.
Up might give us options they won’t anticipate.
We take the stairs two at a time, the metal steps cold against our bare feet.
The stairwell smells of cleaning products and cigarette smoke—the staff’s secret break area, judging by the makeshift ashtray I spotted earlier.
“What about the others?” Maisie asks between labored breaths as we climb. “We can’t just leave them?—”
“We’re no good to anyone if we’re caught,” I reply, though the guilt twists in my stomach.
Jessica, Natalie, Ava, Zoe, Kira are still in their rooms, unaware of our escape attempt. “We get help, then come back for them.”
The logic is sound, but it still feels like betrayal.
We make it up three flights before the first alarm blares—a shrill, piercing sound that makes my ears ring.
Red emergency lights begin to flash, casting eerie shadows on the concrete walls.
“They know,” Maisie gasps, fear making her voice crack.
“Keep moving,” I urge as she falters.
The thud of boots on stairs echoes below us, growing louder. Heavy footfalls.
Multiple pursuers.
My mind calculates odds, distances, timing. “Almost there.”
The roof access door is marked with warnings: “Authorized Personnel Only” and “Emergency Exit—Alarm Will Sound.”
Ironic, since alarms are already blaring throughout the building.
The door is locked with an electronic keypad, but the stolen keycard works—a master key, then.
The light flashes green, and the lock disengages with a metallic click.
Cold night air hits our faces as we burst out onto a gravel-covered rooftop.
The world opens up around us after days of confinement—stars scattered across the velvet sky, city lights twinkling in the distance.
We’re outside the city, I realize.
