Page 21 of Claim

“He has her in the east wing.” His words are garbled from blood.

I had a feeling that’s where he was keeping her. The same place he kept my mother near the end of her marriage. Someplace close enough that he can keep tabs, but also where she can be locked away.

I don’t give him warning, just tilt the edge of my knife enough I can bury it into his throat.

He doesn’t make a sound as he slumps to the dirt.

Now I just have to work my way to the other end of the compound.

The moon gives off enough light I can make my way silently past the next two guard posts without being seen.

Its glare reflects from the white marbled tiles that accent every window.

But what really catches my eye is the black drain pipe that runs along them to the roof.

I bet if I climbed up there, I could break into that top room, then work my way down. Ivan’s men would never expect me coming from above.

I’m just about to break from the cover of the trees when the very glass I’m aiming for swings out.

What the hell?

CHAPTER 8

ANASTASIA

The door slamsshut with a heavy thud and the lock clicks firmly. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. That was close. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin, even as I run my hands over my neck. It’s inevitable, he’ll make me pay for that sooner or later.

I’m not sure how many times I can fight him and win. He might be old, but he’s sharp. He’s bigger than me. And he has a whole mansion full of bodyguards who will probably be happy to rip my head from my shoulders.

Looking down, I’m met with the gruesome reality of blood caking my palms. It makes me sick. He deserves to die, not just have a slash on his face.

I wish I drove it through his fucking heart.

On shaky legs, I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. The crimson swirls down the sink as I scrub my hands.

I don’t care who he thinks he is, or how powerful he might be in this fucked up world. He doesn’t have the right to my body. I won’t let him. I’ve kept myself for this long, waiting for the right guy to come along.

Saving myself, when actually, it is about to be ripped from me by an old ugly monster. I feel the hot sting of tears on my face, and with a trembling hand, I wipe them away, hoping to stop the flow of emotion. I can deal with this another time, I’m sure I won’t be walking out of here the same woman I came in.

But I won’t go down without a fight. I know I did damage to the old bastard with that knife, so I have a small window of opportunity to try to get the fuck out of here.

If I’m going to die here, I might as well go making some kind of escape. Pacing the room, I run my fingers through my hair and pull. I want to scream. Making my way over to the window, I rest my hands on the cold, damp ledge. The icy breeze blowing through the gap and sending shivers down my arms. I look into the darkness, and the moonlight casts long shadows across the ground, making the scene look pretty. Surely there has to be a way off this estate. I just have to keep running.

Pushing myself up on my tiptoes, I look down. Shit. I’m so high up. Can I? What’s worse? Falling to my death or being raped for years?

I’ll take death.

Pushing myself further out of the window, I spot a black drain pipe to my left. I think that’s my only option. I race around the room, grabbing my sneakers first and throwing on a black sweater. Rubbing my hands on my leggings, I try to wipe away some of the nervous sweat on my palms.

The muffled, deep voices in Russian outside my door sent a jolt of fear through me, urging me to the window. With trembling hands, I silently slide it open as wide as it would go, creating a narrow escape route. The air is thin, and the wind bites at my skin as I sit on the ledge, legs dangling, eyes closed, and taking a deep breath to gather my courage. It doesn’t help. The frantic rhythm of my pounding heart echoes in my ears.

Scooting my way to the left, I lean out slightly, the coolness of the drain’s metal pressing against my palm. Okay, it’s not wet, that’s something. Fueled by pure adrenaline, I slam my foot against it, reaching over and gripping with both hands. Muscles straining, I twist my body, shoving my toes into the narrow space between the bricks.

With a deep breath, I cling to the pipe, my arms straining with the effort.

Don’t look down, Ana. Jesus. How the hell is this my life? Slowly and carefully, I move down. Why does it feel like only an inch at a time?

Keeping my eyes solely on my sneakers, working out roughly where each foot should go as I work my way down, the light from my bedroom and the moon is just about enough to see.

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