Page 66 of Thrown to the Wolves

“I’m always ready,” Lyssa says coolly. “Mrs. G, you stay the fuck behind me.”

“You don’t need to swear at me, Lyssa,” she says primly. “I have no plans to do anything else.”

I don’t miss the quick quirk of Lyssa’s mouth before she gives me the nod. “Go,” she says.

I push open the door and head in. From way down below, we can hear shouts and boots on stairs. But they have a long, long way to get up this far. “We have time,” I say.

“Move,” is all Lyssa says, propelling me upward with a hand in the small of my back.

I head up the stairwell to the penthouse level, where we find the door open. “One good thing, at least,” Lyssa mutters, and then points at the next flight of stairs that continues on up to the roof. “What’s up there?”

“Helipad,” I say, and Lyssa and I exchange a look. “Grandmother will be up there. And…probably some of the other trainees, too. Like Ariadne.”

I don’t like the way Lyssa is looking at me—something like contempt in her eyes. “Then make your choice,” she says, her lip twisting. “Your parents? Or vengeance?”

The question doesn’t even warrant consideration. “My parents,” I respond immediately.

Nodding, Lyssa pushes open the door and leads us into the open penthouse suite. I point out the door at the back of the sitting room—the entrance to Grandmother’s private chambers, beyond which lies the torture room.

Together, Lyssa and I sweep the room, checking for hidden enemies. But it’s empty.

My breath hitches as we approach the bedroom, dread and hope warring within me. There are no guards.

No Grandmother.

Lyssa pauses, ever cautious, but I can’t contain myself a moment longer. I rush forward, bursting through the wardrobe to the room beyond.

There, still bound to chairs with ropes biting into their skin, are my parents. They don’t move at the noise of me bursting in, and I freeze in dread. “Mom? Dad?” I choke out.

For a moment, there’s nothing. And then they both lift their heads a little, a little more, eyes widening as they see me.

They’re alive.

Oh, thank God.

Tears blur my vision as I drink in their appearance, frozen for another heartbeat before racing to them. With trembling hands, I slice through the rough bindings.

“Scarlett,” my father rasps. “What on earth?—”

“There’s no time to explain. We have to go, now!”

They nod dumbly, too stunned and weakened to protest as I help them to their feet. Shooting a grateful look at Lyssa, we head in a train back to the stairwell.

“My name is Lyssa. And all of you,” Lyssa commands, looking around our little group, “you stay behind me, and behind Scarlett. Heads down. If anyone is coming down the stairs behind us, you shout ‘Alert!’ and then duck. Any questions?”

“But Scarlett—what’s going on?” my mother asks, her voice quavering. “Where have you been?”

“We don’t have time for small talk,” Lyssa says, but she’s gentler than I expected, and I’m grateful for that.

Grateful for Lyssa.

“When it’s over, Mom,” I murmur. “I’ll—I’ll explain everything then.” Mom nods, but she can’t stop herself from pulling me into a hard hug, which Dad joins in as well.

“We missed you so much,” he tells me softly. “Oh, Scarlett?—”

“Please,” I say desperately, trying to hold it together. “Let’s just focus on getting out of here.” They finally let me go, standing back with Mrs. Graves.

Lyssa motions me over. “I’ll go first, Scar,” she says in a low voice, and doesn’t seem to notice she’s used the nickname she gave me. “And we’ll do this together.”

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