Page 96 of Hook

I swallow hard. “It was delicious. I’m always hungry lately. And Cillian is out tonight, so I’m going to watch a movie.” Granted, my healthy energy packed snacks aren’t exactly movie food, but she can’t judge me for that.

She nods. “Fair enough. Enjoy.”

I walk past her toward the home movie theatre to maintain the illusion. My heart is hammering at a thousand miles an hour. All I did was get some food and I’m already on the brink of being caught. When I’m sure I won’t run into her again, I head up the stairs to our bedroom.

Everything is up in the air, but if I don’t take advantage of the fact Cillian isn’t here tonight, then I’ll never get away. This is the first time he’s not been here at night and I need the cover of darkness to escape.

I open the door to the bedroom and again that painful twinge hits me. This is the last time I’ll be in here. I pull off the dress I’m wearing and leave it on the floor, walking into the closet. There’s no clothes that are inconspicuous in here so I head into Cillian’s closet instead, grabbing one of his black sweatshirts and pull it on. My stomach dips as it smells of him, but it’s perfect because it’s oversized and not what anyone would expect me to wear.

Returning to my closet, I grab a pair of black sweatpants that Cillian supplied me to use in his home gym and put them on. Lastly, I slip into a pair of navy blue trainers also intended for use in the gym.

It’s the best disguise I’ve got. All I can do is hope that the dark of night and this clothing offers me the cover I need to get out of here.

There’s a rucksack stuffed at the bottom of the closet, and I pull it out to stock it with my food and drink. And then, I turn toward the bedroom with a sigh.

This is it.

I’ll get out of here tonight or I’ll die trying. Either way, I don’t want to end up back in this house. Cillian is turning me into someone I don’t recognize. What I did the other night at his club was out of character. I hate that I enjoyed it. He makes me certain that if I remain much longer, I’ll be glad he stole me… A part of me already is.

Throwing the backpack over my shoulder, I stare at the room we’ve shared. A deep sadness claws at me knowing I’ll never see him again. I’ve got a serious case of Stockholm syndrome. I need to get some space to clear my head. And then I’m sure this stupid infatuation with the man who kidnapped me will disappear without a trace.

My heart beats like a jackhammer, threatening to burst out of my chest as I scan the bedroom one last time. I slip out of the room, closing the door behind me. My adrenaline spikes as I tiptoe down the stairs with trembling legs, trying not to make a sound. Every step feels like a death sentence as I make my way to the back of the house. The backdoor is the only way out, but an armed guard stands outside it, ready to catch me in my escape attempt.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I assess my options: the side door from the kitchen or risk everything by making a run for it when the guard’s back is turned?

I opt for the side door and force the handle down as slowly as possible until I hear a faint click and slip out of the kitchen door, crouching low against walls to keep out of sight.

The guard’s movements are erratic, his gun at-the-ready, his eyes scanning left and right. Then he shifts his stance for a second. It’s all the opportunity I need. Without a second thought, I bolt off into the night air like prey being hunted by a predator—desperate for escape. My feet pound hard against the concrete path leading away from Cillian’s home toward the beach where freedom awaits.

All the while, the sound of waves crashing on the shore call to me as I rush down the steps. I search desperately for refuge as my heart races in fear of being caught and returned to my captor. The wind whistles past me as I race through the night without looking back—freedom is a few strides away now.

A man’s voice shatters my hopes: “What the fuck?” He shouts. “Cillian’s wife is trying to escape!”

Panic grips me as I hear words crackling through on the radio; “All teams to the beach. We’ve got a runner.”

Damn it.

I grit my teeth, sprinting like my life depends on it, ignoring the burning pain in my lungs as freedom draws near.

If I make it to the beach and off of his property, I have a chance. With each step, freedom feels like a reality but more distant at the same time. The thud of heavy boots in the distance warn me that I don’t have much time.

I’m about three yards from the neighboring property where a group of people appear to be having a party. I call out to them for help, but their music is too loud. The sound of my voice barely makes it above the thumping bass coming from the speakers. And when I’m at the fence to cross, two heavy hands land on my shoulders and pull me away from freedom. I struggle, but the grip tightening around my body is too strong.

The man who grabbed me is one of Cillian’s guards. His grip on me tightens as he speaks, his words dripping with disgust. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Mrs. Hook? Huh?!”

I swallow hard and look at him. “Please let me go.”

He snorts, glaring at me with fierce eyes. “You think I’m going to sacrifice myself on that motherfucker’s hook for you? If I let you go, Cillian will kill every guard working tonight for negligence.” A chill consumes me as I consider how many lives could have been lost if I’d escaped.

He drags me back into Cillian’s house, throwing me onto the floor like an unwanted toy. Two guards remain behind me. Their malignant stares like daggers piercing through my skin . “Wait here,” he growls. “Cillian will be back to deal with you.” And then he stomps off in silence, leaving two armed guards behind me.

I’ve never felt more helpless as I remain on the floor, broken and defeated. It was a good plan in my mind, but clearly I underestimated how many guards Cillian has patrolling the grounds.

Time ticks by at an agonizingly slow speed, or perhaps it’s because I know what’s awaiting me when Cillian gets back. A punishment far worse than he’s subjected me to so far.

Each tick of time intensifies my fear until I can hardly breathe when the door finally swings open. This is it. My reckoning.

I fear I may not survive my husband’s wrath this time.

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