Page 97 of A Return of the Wicked Earl (The Shadows 1)

The thug had the gall to smirk. “She is not here.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” It hurt his lungs to speak, but he didn’t care anymore.

“She is not here,” the thug repeated. “And now you will never find her.”

The thug coughed and closed his eyes.

“Annalise!” Blake yelled and hurried through the house, checking every room and closet.

He noticed a heavy oak door leading to a dark room, a basement. He knew that because he’d stared at this oak door for weeks in the dark. He approached it slowly and pushed it in. The door was unlocked.

He walked in and stepped down the creaky stairs leading into the hollow room.

Blake’s screams of the past echoed inside his head, the darkness suffocating him.

“Annalise?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. He thought he repeated her name again, only louder, but he wasn’t certain.

The room was empty. Aside from the horrifying memories, there was nothing there.

“Blake?”

Blake whirled. Jarvis was standing on the steps throwing a vast shadow into the room. Blake’s breaths accelerated, panic settling in.

“That window is open.” Jarvis tipped his head, and Blake followed the movement. Yes, the window. The same one from his dreams—his nightmares. It was truly there. And it was open. “It seems like Annalise has escaped,” Jarvis said.

It was high above the ground. Would Annalise be able to pry it open?

Blake stepped closer and noticed something lying on the floor. He knelt and picked it up. It was a female slipper.

Blake swallowed and fought to calm his rioting heart. “I hope you’re right,” he croaked out. “This is hers.”

They both returned to the main hall, and Blake looked around. Ford’s leg was bandaged, and he sat propped against the wall, his eyes still closed. The thugs were tied down on the floor.

Blake walked toward them. “Where is she?” he barked.

“Harv didn’t lie,” one of the men said. “She is not here. She was. But not anymore.”

“What in the devil does this mean?”

“She ran off,” another one supplied. “Just before you arrived. But not to worry. Garry will bring her back.”

Blake stilled, his heartbeat the only sound in the room.

“Who the hell is Garry?”

* * *

Annalise ran with all her might through the narrow streets. Her skirts tore as they caught on the corners of bricks and stones, but she just kept moving. Something crunched under her, and she felt a sharp pain shoot through her foot. Annalise cried out in pain, then covered her mouth with her hands before picking up her skirts again and continuing her flight farther away from the place where she’d been held. She limped her way, stepping on the ball of her right foot so as not to hurt herself even more.

Her breath was labored, and her corset made it difficult to take deep gulps of air. Annalise turned the corner and leaned against a tall building, panting. She raised her foot to inspect it and grimaced in pain. It was bleeding, and there was something dark lodged in her bloody cut.

Annalise closed her eyes briefly and took deep breaths to calm her rioting heart.

She slowly picked at her wound with a grimace of pain and managed to pull out a tiny but sharp rock. Tears smarted her eyes, and she dropped the stone with a whimper. Then she rolled her torn stocking down and took it off. Her foot was dirty and covered in blood. How badly had she hurt it?

Annalise wiped her foot with the clean part of her stocking as gently as she could. She put her hand in the pocket and felt the flask the thug had thrown at her. That should do it.

She uncorked the vessel and poured a generous amount of liquid onto her foot. Annalise hissed as her wound burned as if on fire. She clamped her lips and bit on the inside of her cheek so as not to cry out. Tears burned at the back of her eyes.

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