Page 93 of Royal Bargain
Gone.
They left.
I glance at the small analog clock on the kitchen wall. Right on time.
I crouch low and crawl to the edge of the living room window, peeking through the curtain, spotting two shadows down on the street huddled near the curb, sharing a cigarette. God. They’re not even trying to hide it.
There’s a pattern to their breaks. Every thirty minutes, they step out together. Maybe three minutes, maybe five.
That’s my window.
My only one.
I shut the door quietly and lean against it, heart thudding. My hands shake. This is insane, but I can’t back out now. Sasha’s waiting.
And I need answers.
I bite my lip, glancing around. If I’m careful, I can slip out the back.
A thought forms in my mind like a flash of lightning and I pace toward the window again, peeking through the edge of the curtain. There they are.
I look back at Lily.
She’s still asleep, cheeks pink and full of peace I haven’t felt in weeks. I kneel beside her bassinet, fingers brushing through her soft red hair.
“I’ll be back soon, baby,” I whisper. “Before you even know I’m gone.”
Grabbing the hoodie I left draped over the kitchen chair, I tug the hood up, and sling my bag over my shoulder.
The door opens with a slow creak. I wince, pausing, breath held, but no voices call out. I ease into the hall and slip toward the back stairwell like a ghost.
Every step echoes inside my head. My pulse. My bones.
I reach the landing and press my back to the cold wall. One floor left. Then freedom.
I descend slowly, quietly, counting each step like it’s the last one I’ll ever take.
When I reach the bottom, I go still. The exit is just ahead—gray, dented, plain. I move toward it and pause at the wired-glass window.
And my heart stops.
They’re not out front.
They’re here.
The two of them are standing by the back door, half in shadow. Smoking. Talking. Blocking my only exit.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I suck in a sharp breath and back away from the window. My whole body’s buzzing, wired with panic and adrenaline. I risk inching the door open—just a sliver—just enough to hear.
Their voices are low and careless. One of them laughs. The other mumbles something about needing stronger coffee.
They don’t sound alert. They don’t sound ready.
But if I make one wrong move, if I make even the slightest noise…
I’ll blow everything.
