Page 83 of Revenge & Ruin

Then, fifteen grueling minutes to get past the encryption. Ten more to get past the second. Then, half an hour to deal with the third set.

I might have been impressed by the lengths he went to keep people out if I wasn’t in such a rush to get in.

“Where are you?”

These were the first words that Leon managed to send me after I secured the line (another ten minutes.)

“Teo’s hostage. Buy me some time?”

I didn’t wait for his response. I went straight to the front door.

Perhaps I should have checked it out first, because it’s somehow worse to crack than the computer, and every second that passes is fraying my nerves.

In total, it takes three hours, twenty-six minutes, and thirteen seconds from the moment Teo Vitale left to the second I step out into the chilled evening air. Finally,finally,above ground.

I breathe it in hungrily, only just realizing how much I missed it after it fills my lungs once more. And I laugh because I’m free.

But also because I haveno ideawhere I am.

Around the bunker entrance—a set of metal doors that look just like any other maintenance access to the sewers—is a parking lot. It’s not particularly large, but the buildings that surround it are entirely unfamiliar.

None of them are tall like you’d expect in Manhattan. They’re clearly residential, with a few larger buildings in the distance that hint at a more cosmopolitan skyline.

There’s nothing for it. I have to move.

And for the first time since getting out of bed, I regret doing this.

Firstly, because I’m wearing nothing substantial, and it’s proving to be an increasingly chilly night.

But secondly, there’s that voice in my head that is whining. It’s the part of me that wants me to crawl back under the comforter and wait for Teo to get home. I want to let myself be comforted by his embrace and pretend that everything is fine, actually.

It’s a dangerous thought process to let myself indulge in.

Especially when I seem to have so much trouble exercising any semblance of restraint when I’m around him.

Even now, the insanity of my thoughts during sex fills me with dread. How easy it was for me to give up and relinquish control. Relinquish mylife.

Maybe I am going crazy.

But the cold air bites at my bare arms, and that whiney little voice is pushed to the back of my mind.

The streets are quiet at first. I try to stick to the main roads in the hope of calling a taxi, but none appear.

The darkness descends quickly, as if every step I take away from the bunker beckons to the night. With it, the chill begins to seep into my bones.

I move faster, forcing my legs to move toward a sprint.

Then I see it, headlights in the distance. A car, someone coming this way, and I almost stick my arm out to hail it.

But I canhearthe engine, even though it must be fifteen blocks away, and it’s speeding right toward me.

No. The bunker.

I only have a split second to weigh the risks before I throw myself into the bush beside me and get as close as I can to the ground.

“Fuck!” I hiss as something sharp scrapes against my arm on the way down.

In the dimming light, I can just about make out a thickening, dark line scratched across my forearm. My fingertips darken as I touch it—definitely bleeding, then.

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