Page 71 of Savage Revenge

He thinks he won.

It feels like he has.

But I’m not going to let that happen.

I’m Jordyn fucking Kingston. I’ve been dealing with asshole men all my life. It’s how I got to be this damn strong. Which I really need to be right now. Even if I do want to curl up into a ball and cry for a day or two. For several different reasons that I’ll have to figure out later.

Because, right now, I need to get out of here. Out of this house. Away from this psycho.

How many guards did I see today? One by the front door, and one by the door that leads to the garages. There was probably one near the side entrance that leads out to a patio. So, at least three men. I haven’t seen Caleb, though. He’s the one who always goes out to the backyard with me.

I need to be smart about this. It’s the middle of the desert. I can’t just escape and hope for the best. Maybe if I follow the concrete wall that wraps around the house, it will lead me to the main road. As long as I can get to a road, I can hitch a ride with someone who is hopefully not a murderer.

Before I talk myself out of it, I put on the sturdiest pair of flip-flops that Cash brought me from my apartment. Better shoes would be awesome, but I have to make do with what I have at my disposal. Hopefully, the Las Vegas heat doesn’t melt the rubber soles before I climb into my murderer’s car. It would suck to have scorched feet.

Not caring about anything else, I squeeze my eyes shut and take several steadying breaths. I can do this. He’s an evil man who I need to get away from. I hate Cash Savage, and I’m not going to be his prisoner anymore.

I might vomit.

Slowly and quietly, I tiptoe to the bedroom door and open it, peeking into the hall to confirm there’s no one in sight. I’m taking a huge risk here. I don’t even want to imagine what will happen if I get caught.

Trying to be as casual as possible, even though my heart is thudding hard, I make it to the stairs. I’m halfway down when I make eye contact with the front door guard. I flip him off and glare at him as usual, and he smirks at me without saying a word. He never does.

The closer I get to the back doors, the harder it is to breathe. I will myself not to faint as I pass by one of the black couches that adorn the living room. If that’s what this even is. There are so many sitting rooms in this house, it’s hard to tell what they’re all meant for. I’ve used each one a couple of times, and my mood has determined which one I’ve used. One is darker and moodier, while this one is brighter and airier with all the windows encircling it.

My fingers shake as I wrap them around the doorknob. Almost there. Just a little longer. I can do this.

Blistering heat blows in my face as I step outside. Shit. It’s so hot today. Probably close to one hundred degrees. A perfect pool day. One with mojitos and nachos. And a hot, tattooed bad boy who makes me feel like a queen.

No.

Fuck no.

He crossed a line… At least, I think it’s a line.

Being obsessed is one thing, but cameras in the bathroom? How freaking humiliating. My cheeks heat at the thought of what he may have watched me do. What things he might have been doing to himself while spying on me. Touching himself. Stroking his big cock as he watches me shower.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I scan the backyard. Cash’s property is hundreds of acres, but most of it is empty desert land behind the house, from what I can tell. Other than the pool, there’s a fountain, hot tub, and an entire tiled patio with a stone fireplace, a full outdoor kitchen, and a mounted big screen, along with a bunch of cozy seating spots in random areas. It’s serene and beautiful. One day, when I have a house of my own, I’m going to design the backyard like this. Cash might be an asshole, but I’m in love with his damn home.

The stone wall was built low so the Las Vegas Strip lights are completely visible in the distance. I eye it, wondering if I’ll actually be able to get myself to the other side. It’s probably only four feet so I can see over it, but lifting my ass up there on my own might be a struggle.

A chair.

Yes, that will work.

Grabbing the closest teak chair, I drag it to the wall, and as quickly as possible, I step up and peer over the stone.

All desert.

Dry ground, sagebrush, and cacti.

If I can make it over the wall, I can follow it around the front of the house. That will put me closer to a main road. Somewhere.

I still have no idea where the hell I am, but the view of The Strip is all I need. As long as I can see it, I know I’m close.

The stone is warm when I press my palms to it and glance back one last time to confirm I’m alone. Then, I hoist myself up, sliding over on my butt. Even though it’s not very far down, I hesitate and bite my lip before I let myself drop to the ground.

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