Page 112 of Princess of Pride
Once we’re down the narrow stairway and in another hallway, I let her pass me. “I don’t know where I’m going?”
She smiles widely. “Rory said you might not.” Her accent isn’t as strong as the waitresses.
So he did send her, but maybe not on Lachlan’s orders.
“I’m Bonnie.” She nods instead of offeringme her hand.
“Emery.”
“I know.” She stops at a door on the left. “It’s one person only. You go ahead.”
“No.” I wave. “Please. You go.” She looks concerned, so I add, “I forgot something anyway. I’ll be back.” I turn and walk away.
I’m almost to the stairs when I hear the door close. I look back to make sure it was her and not another door. She’s gone. My heart kick starts at what I’m about to do. I run toward the open door on the left and pause before going in. It’s the kitchen like I assumed, based on the noises. I can’t just walk in, can I?
What will people think? I can’t stand here either.
God, this is the dumbest plan.
I can only see three people from where I’m standing and none of them are young. Two are middle-aged men and one is an early thirty-something woman. Each of them is cooking and talking, but I can’t understand a single word they’re saying.
Clattering sounds from a door across the hallway. I enter a storage-type stone room. Dim lighting greets me. Goosebumps form on my skin at the colder temperature.
“Hello?”
Someone grabs my arm and yanks me deeper inside.
I squeal.
“Shut yer shitehole,” a girl barks in a whisper.
My heart races. Is this Maisie? Did someone hear me scream? “Are you helping me?” I ask.
“No. You’re helping me.” She drags me to the end of the storage room which grows darker as we go.
I can’t see a thing, afraid I’ll run into something as I let her lead me. Is Lachlan looking for me?
A light shines on a steep stairwell. It takes me a second to realize it’s the flashlight on her phone.
“We’re goingup. Don’t fall.”
Panic has me by the chest. I force myself to breathe as we scamper up the steps to a metal door.
“Hold this.” She hands me the phone, and I’m thankful her accent is slight enough that I can understand her. “Shine it here.” She directs me to the lock.
She digs a medieval looking key from her pocket and works it into the hole.
It rattles but doesn’t open.
I jerk at a noise in the storage room. “Hurry,” I whisper-shout.
“Hold the bloody light still,” she snaps back.
I try to, but my hand trembles.
The lock clicks and she shoulders the door open. If she were slight of frame like me, I don’t think she could have forced it up and open. I follow her out and she grabs the door before it falls closed.
“Help me,” she whisper-shouts. “We can’t let it slam.”
