Page 119 of Convict's Game
The outhouse wasn’t just bolted. It had a camera hidden at the top of the doorframe and staring right down at us. Fuck it. If anyone was monitoring that, they’d be calling the cops faster than we could escape. More, there wouldn’t just be this single, breakable lock.
I dropped it. A sound broke over the stillness, tyres on gravel.
I yanked Mila down, my heart thumping. Through the fence, a white car skidded down the drive, headlights slicing up the dark on its way to the road. The vehicle moved too fast to be sure of the occupant.
“Did you get a look at them?” I asked.
“Nope. Speedy driver was too busy burning holes in the driveway.”
The gates clanked, opening, and I gave a short laugh. This was our chance, handed to us on a silver platter.
Still grasping Mila’s hand, I said, “Run.”
We belted down the tree line and to the edge of the road. The car bombed past us without slowing, and we waited a beat then sprinted on through the open gates, just as they began to slide shut.
We kept going, down the grass and all the way to the house. Pressed against the smooth white render, I exhaled. Mila laughed softly beside me, her eyes wide but alive.
“That was slick,” she breathed.
I smirked. “Told you. I’m Bond. If Bond had a record and unresolved mother issues.”
She gave me a side-eye. “You’re more like Bond’s evil twin who got banned from spy club and started a sex cult.”
I grinned. “Still got the girl, though, didn’t I?”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to. Her fingers hadn’t let go of mine.
There was nothing for it other than to enter the property. Mila indicated a side door. I could have gone with stealth, but we were there to be seen, not to steal this time. Pulling her clear, I reared back and barged the door.
It gave. I fell through and rolled to my feet at the end of a wide, white corridor.
Lining the walls on both sides were black-and-white pictures of a beautiful woman, tastefully draped over furniture or posing on a bed, and very, very naked.
Every single one was of Mila.
Chapter 39
Mila
Convict stopped dead and stared at the portraits. “That is fucked up.”
I shrugged and walked on. “They’ve been there all my life. I’m used to them.”
He caught up. “They aren’t of you?”
I swung back and gawked at him, open-mouthed. “That’s my grandmother when she was a young woman. You thought it was me? Ew.”
He blinked then scrubbed his face. “I need an eyebath, stat.”
A laugh flew from between my lips, and I peered up at the nearest photo. As a teenager, the bare breasts had felt awkward but I’d stopped seeing them. “I guess we do look alike. My grandfather loved her so much. See how he put her on a pedestal? He adored her above all things, and the pictures were taken at the point he fell in love with her. That’s how he explained this to me.”
A sound came from somewhere in the house, directing us both to face down the hall. Adrenaline spiked my heartbeat, reminding me of my task. At last, I was here. They couldn’t block me out if I was right in front of them.
Still, I was scared as hell.
“Hello?” I called out.
