Page 29 of Prohibited

“Oh,” said Roberts, watching him go.

He looked back down at his bloody steak. Looked across the table at Stanley’s abandoned steak.

Oh, hell.

Chapter eleven

Evie

It was hard to figure out how many days had gone by. And without any windows to the outside world, it was also impossible to know what time it was. So, she just slept. Woke and slept, woke and slept. Sometimes there was someone coming into the room, and sometimes she was alone.

Lindsay and Ryan alternated coming to get her to take her to the lavatory.

Alex, mercifully, had not returned to her cell since their first terrifying encounter. The cut above her breast smarted terribly, but hadn’t gotten infected. Now it was crusted over and starting to heal, but she still gritted her teeth every time her fingers passed over the rough scab.

That fucking bastard.

The first time she was escorted down the long dark hallway lined with torches, and emerged, blinking, into the electrical lights of the Red Crystal, she’d been shocked. It made sense that she was underground, the way she felt totally swallowed up. During what she assumed wasthe day, there were a few men there who watched her with interest as she was escorted into the washroom, distinctly aware that she wore only a black silk robe with her drawers underneath. Humiliating.

And it also filled her with black, bitter despair that she was just down the corridor from people drinking and dancing to the boisterous piano while she sat, imprisoned close by, secreted in the belly of the building. She had to think of a way to escape.

Ever since the first day, Ryan hadn’t spoken a word to her. Not one. He didn’t come often to her room-how strange to start thinking of it as hers–and when he did, he did not make eye contact with her, and he behaved as though she didn’t speak at all. It was infuriating and baffling.

Lindsay came more often, chatting with her politely as he escorted her down the hallway. But there was a look of pain on his face when he met her eye, and he kept their conversations spare. It occurred to her with a cold feeling of dread that he was trying not to get too attached to her.

Days passed and nothing of note happened. Part of this filled her with a sliver of hope. Why on earth hadn’t they killed her yet? Perhaps the plan had changed?

But the more realistic part of her knew that this couldn’t be. Alex had all but said that he fully intended to kill her. Had told her that Ryan wanted to see her dead, too. And Lindsay had said that he was the only person in the building who didn’t want to kill her.

So why was she still alive?

No one would answer her questions.

Occasionally, two other men, Joey and Simon, also took a turn at one time or another to escort her down the corridor. They didn’t speak to her either, not at first, but Simon did little to hide his interest in her. She didn’t know what to do with this fact, but she recognized it as a potential resource. She turned it over in her mind, looking at it from all angles. While she sincerely doubted he could be persuaded to turn on his friends–or employers or whoever they were to him–for a few thrusts, it was possible that if she could seduce him she could use it to her advantage. He kept a gun in a shoulder holster like many of the rest of them. And, like the others, he had a key to her cell in his pocket. One or both of these things gave her a sliver of hope that she might escape. Though it was difficult to track time, it was obvious that when she was permitted out of her cell was during the day before the Crystal began to admit guests. She never saw anyone there except for her escorts and an old man dressed impeccably who she recognized as the bartender. He didn’t even spare her a glance when they brought her through.

However, if she could somehow get the key and she could bide her time until the speakeasy was full of people, she could burst through the door and scream for help. There was no way that they would be able to deny that they’d abducted her in a room full of people. There was no doubt that by now it was certain to her husband andher family that she was missing. The police were likely involved at this point. They’d be forced to let her go.

The thought gave her hope. Real hope.

When Simon came to her cell, she made extra certain to smile. To press closely to him while they walked, to compliment him on anything she could think of. And the more she did it, it turned out, the more often he appeared to escort her down the corridor to the washroom. He, in turn, put his hand on her waist while they walked down the corridor, until they were into the main room, at which point, he had her by the wrist again.

Interesting that he clearly didn’t want any of the rest of them to know. Likely, they’d all been forbidden from touching her, and thank God for that. She shuddered at the idea of all of these brutes being given free rein with her body. It had occurred to her on more than one occasion that this was a distinct possibility and it was never too late to begin.

In this case, no matter how much she didn’t care to have sex with a man several years younger than her who was mediocre looking at best and was entirely complicit in her imprisonment, she would do what was necessary in order to survive.

The theft of the key, of course, needed to be timed correctly. If they discovered its disappearance too early, she could draw attention to herself. It was likely that he would initially be blamed for mislaying it, but eventually all roads would lead back to her. It had to be planned precisely.

When Lindsay appeared that afternoon–or what she presumed was the afternoon–she asked him for a clock.

“I can’t ever tell what time it is,” she said while he led her gently by the elbow toward the washroom. “It’s making me crazy.”

He was silent for a while, his cane thumping in what was becoming a familiar rhythm as they walked. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last.

“Thank you,” she said.

Then she waited with agonizing impatience to see if he would bring it to her. It could take days or weeks for him to decide to produce one. And by that point, well, there might not be any point at all. But to her amazement, later that day, he came in bearing a small pocket watch. Battered and scratched, certainly, but still ticking away.

And now she had to wait until Simon came at the right time. She couldn’t sleep for fear that the plan would go wrong somehow. Perhaps tomorrow they would decide it was time for her to die, or Simon would never return, or he’d catch her in the act and foil the whole thing.

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