Page 7 of Unorthodox
There are no calendars, no clocks. But I won’t lose track.
I angle the blade, make another quick cut beside the first one, relish in the sting as I grip the plastic handle tight.
I’m not sure why it was there, and I shudder to think about another girl in this room.
Is this Max Bennett’s MO? Snatching up the kids of people who have wronged him? Probably so. I know better than most, girls like me are too easily used as pawns.
And I know what Max does.
I’d heard of him even before the whispered conversation I overheard from my father. The one he wasn’t going to share with me.
The thought washes hot anger over me like a wave, propelling me to act.
Where will I go? Back to him?I force that thought aside. When I’m free, I’ll figure it out.
I move quickly, silently.
And when I hear the click of the lock to my room, I’m in position, tucked away in the closet that faces the door.
My bathroom door is closed, light on, and because of how he scared the shit out of me yesterday, Ben thinks I’ll still be in there.
He thinks I’ll be a good girl.
His footsteps stop just inside my room, and I hold my breath, unable to see anything from the crack of the closet door.
Then he moves, clomping off toward the bathroom. He stops outside of it, and I wait, trying to hear past my heart thundering in my chest. Trying to steady my shaking hand, the plastic handle of the razor blade clenched tight in it.
He knocks harshly on the bathroom door. “Hurry up,” he growls, anger laced in those two words.
I wait, barely breathing, my chest heaving with each silent inhale and shuddering with each shallow exhale.
Then I hear him snarl under his breath, the creak of the door as he turns the knob.
And I move.
Fast, because the bathroom is small, and it will take about two seconds for him to see I’m not there.
But he’s not getting his hands on me again.
I slip out of the closet door and I see the guard outside of my door, rifle in hand.
He’s facing away from me, posture ramrod straight as I hear Ben stomping around in the bathroom.
I take one deep breath.
Then I run.
The guard doesn’t expect me, and I fly past him, razor still in hand.
I hear Ben roaring my name a second later as my bare feet skim over the polished floors, the scent of pine making my stomach churn.
I’m on the first floor, and I see the foyer up ahead, polished wood and dark walls, no light filtering in because the fucking sun hasn’t even started its rise yet.
There’s no guard at the double door.
A thread of hope pulls tight in my chest.
I hear the men charging after me.
