Page 52 of Darkest Deeds

I have no doubt he’s been blowing up my phone. If I don’t talk to him soon, or get to Seven, everything could go to hell. The longer I’m with Niko, the more I’m putting everyone at risk. I didn’t do things right the first time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do them now.

Kicking off the sheet, I search the room until I find what I’m looking for. Balling the sock up, I shove it in my mouth and step back to give myself plenty of room. Taking a deep breath, I raise my arms over my head and let it out as I jerk my hands downward, slamming them against the upper part of my abdomen while swinging my elbows behind me. It hurts like a son of a bitch, but the sock muffles most of my scream. It takes three more times before the locking blade snaps, and the ties fall off my wrists.

Before I can change my mind, I spit out the sock and search through the drawers again. I’m nothing but movement as I throw on one of Niko’s worn black T-shirts and a pair of green boxer shorts, the waistband rolled as high as it will go. Shoes are pointless, so I retrieve the sock and its match and slip them on.

I don’t know why I bother trying the window. Of course it’s bolted shut. It looks like there’s only one way out and it’s past my overgrown Russian babysitter. With my heart racing, I gently crack the bedroom door open and glance around the living room.

Nothing.

“Mikhail?” I whisper.

Nothing.

Crossing my fingers, I step into the living room to find a sleeping Mikhail sprawled out on the couch. I want to let out a sigh of relief, but I can’t risk the noise, so I hold my breath and tiptoe to the door. Just as I reach for the knob, I hear movement on the couch.

“Hmmpphhff. Nice…tits.”

I freeze, and turn to find him still sound asleep, his hand now rubbing the bulge in his jeans. This time, I let out that sigh as I turn the knob and step outside.

Perv.

Looking around, all I can see is grass. I remember Niko telling me that nobody could hear me scream because there wasn’t anything or anyone around for miles. When I was younger, I could run a mile in less than seven minutes. Without shoes and a substantial reserve of energy, that time may be hard to match.

Deciding to go right, I start off in a jog, then break into a full-out run for my life.

Freedom doesn’t come for those racing at the back of the pack.

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