Page 75 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

My fingers trace the window frame, finding a lock similar to the one from my shackles, but one crusted over with years of paint and rust. Throwing something through the glass is out of the question. Might as well ring a dinner bell for everyone downstairs.

So, I lift my finial lockpick and start work. Minutes later, nothing. The lock is worse than I thought; each subtle movement feels like I’m trying to shift concrete rather than metal.

Come on, you rusty piece of?—

The lock finally gives out with a grinding sound that seems loud enough to wake the dead. I freeze, holding my breath, but the voices in the house continue their muffled conversation.

My hands shake as I ease the window up, praying the ancient frame won’t squeal. Cold air rushes in, bringing with it stinging pellets of snow. The sloped roof below is covered in at least six inches of white powder, but it looks solid enough. I’m up on the second floor.

I hesitate at first, not wanting to break a leg, but if I do nothing, I lose everything. I swing one leg over the sill, then the other, grateful I’m still wearing my boots.

Easing onto the lower roof that juts out from the room I am in, I find a steady footing, the snow crunching under my feet. The pitch isn’t too steep, but one wrong move on this slick surface and I’ll make enough noise to bring Marcus running. Or just fall and break my neck, which would probably make his day.

Footsteps outside the room.

My heart stops.

“No, no, no...” I press myself flat against the outside wall near the window, snow coating me, coldness seeping through me. The footsteps pass the door to my room and continue down the hall, but I know my time is running out. They’ll check on me soon.

In better weather, it would be an easy climb. In this storm, with numb fingers and shaking legs...

I need to move.

Heart thundering, I grip the window frame with numb fingers as I perch on the narrow ledge near the window. Eight feet below, the lower section of the roof disappears into swirling snow. I lower myself to a sitting position, the rough shingles scraping against my clothes as I scoot toward the edge. My muscles tremble from both cold and fear. A sharp point—a loose nail or broken drainpipe—catches my coat, and I have to pause, barely breathing as I work to free myself without making noise.

I reach back to pull myself free.

The snag in my jacket suddenly releases, and the world tilts as I pitch forward, tumbling onto the snow-covered shingles. My stomach turns as I hit the snowy ground, the air rushing from my lungs, and I taste copper where I’ve bitten my lip to stay quiet. I lie still, heart pounding so hard, I worry they’ll hear it inside, listening for any sign I’ve been discovered.

Nothing.

Through the swirling snow, I spot the black van at the side of the property. My chest tightens as memories surface of me stuck in a storm up in the mountains—stormy night, my fingers turning blue, the dangerous confusion of hypothermia setting in. The woods in this weather would be certain death. The van might have keys, might be unlocked... I have to try.

I push to my feet, hunching against the bitter wind. Hastily, I round the corner of the house. The snow muffles my footsteps but also hides patches of ice. I’m halfway to the van?—

White-hot pain explodes across my scalp as someone grabs my hair, yanking me backward. A cry tears from my throat as I crash to the ground. The cold seeps through my clothes instantly while fury burns in my chest like a living thing. Before I can scramble up, rough hands seize my throat from behind me.

Dominic’s training cuts through the panic. I drive my elbow back with everything I have, feeling the satisfying crunch of impact and a pained grunt. My heel comes down hard on a foot, and I wrench away… only to have Marcus appear like a nightmare. The asshole behind me kicks my legs, and I crash face-first into the snow. A scream rips from me.

Fuck. Fuck!

I push up on trembling arms, but Marcus shoves me down again.

“Stay down, bitch,” he barks.

I sprawl, rolling onto my back to see both him and his masked thug looming over me like dark giants against the snowy sky.

“Drag her back inside,” Marcus spits out. “You’re watching her this time. Make sure she stays put.”

The man in the balaclava grunts, meaty hand reaching for my throat?—

He vanishes backward in a flash. Three familiar shapes materialize from the storm like angels. Dominic and Garrett slam into the huge thug, driving him to the ground. The crack of Knox’s fist connecting with Marcus’s jaw is loud, and I find Marcus on his knees, getting the beating he fucking deserves.

“You came for me,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat as tears freeze on my cheeks.

The massive henchman shoves to get to his feet, but Dominic’s already behind him, locking an arm around his throat.

“You touched her,” he growls, voice promising retribution. “Big mistake.”

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