Page 19 of Wild Angel

The maid stutters a little, and then says, “La casa de Vito.”

“And where the fuck is that?”

She shrugs, her eyes darting around like she’s urgently in need of a fire escape. I sigh, hold up my hand. “Call me a cab, would you?”

I don’t feel that bad bossing her around. It’s her job, after all. Plus, she looks almost relieved that I’m acting the part. With a few quick nods, the maid disappears down the hallway.

I follow at a more sedate pace. Seems this house isn’t part of the mansion that I saw from the bedroom window. I’m not sure if I’m even on the same property. I take a flight of stairs down into a cozy entertainment area—fireplace, flatscreen, ferns—and stroll through the kitchen.

There’s a Lean Cuisine in the freezer, which I heat up then devour as I stroll through the rest of the one-bedroom, two-story building.

I hear a car pull up a few minutes later. Discarding my plastic container on the closest table, I hurry over to the sliding doors.

I spot Savage’s big black car pulling up in the driveway when I peek through the blinds.

Fuck! That cow snitched!

If I wasn’t so busy searching for a back door, I’d have been seriously pissed off with her.

There’s a door leading out of the kitchen. It takes me a second to unlock it, and then I’m outside. I press against the stucco walls, forcing my foggy brain to calculate the best route out of here.

We are, in fact, on the same property as the mansion, but it’s about a hundred yards away. And if I headed in that direction, it would put me in plain sight of Savage’s car.

Instead, I inch around to the back of the guest house and crouch to go under a window. There’s a short run, then I’m bolting into a copse of oak trees draped with Spanish moss. They throw enough shade on me that I’m pretty sure my luminous hoodie isn’t visible anymore.

I’m close enough that I can hear the sliding doors gliding open, though, and that’s a problem. It’ll take Savage about ten seconds to realize I’m not in the house.

Biting down on my lip, I grab my boobs, and I start running.

Chapter Eleven

Nyx

My feet hit a sidewalk about the same time my lungs collapse. I bend over, so close to retching I can taste bile in the back of my throat.

I have no idea how far I ran. No idea which direction I was running in. But as soon as I spotted what looked like a burger joint’s sign on the distant horizon, I adjusted my course and headed straight for it.

My pink hoodie is scrunched up in my hand. I started sweating through it about five minutes ago.

As soon as I can breathe again, I hurry over the sidewalk and push open the takeout place’s door. There are only a handful of people inside, but it’s cool, and there’s a booth nearby. I drop into it with a sigh and then collapse onto my arms.

This place doesn’t have table service, but someone still comes up to me and asks if I’m okay.

How nice of them.

I wave them away though, rasp out, “Bathroom?”

“Customers only,” the girl says, wincing apologetically.

“Fuck.” I’m still trying to catch my breath. Holy shit, when did I become this unfit? “Spose I can’t use your phone either, then?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.” Her face lights up. “But we have a special! Our 99c burger—”

I hold up a hand. Stand. Glance quickly out the big windows at the front of the restaurant to make sure Savage didn’t somehow follow me here.

Need to get a cab.

That, or hitch a ride.

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