Page 5 of Sweet Sin

And that scares the hell out of me.

Sydney’s still barking, and then Falcon’s voice—loud, dark, and menacing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

I hear nothing after that.

I’m not sure how I heard Falcon over the sound of the tub and behind this locked door, but I’ve been in situations before where my senses have been heightened.

Where I’ve feared for my very life.

But now all I hear is my own heart pounding in my ears.

Falcon is out there. Alone. No weapon. Only a mother dog and her pup to protect him.

He had no weapons in prison, and no dogs either.

Those facts should relieve me, but whoever is here is most likely armed.

I dart my gaze around the changing room. What can I use for a weapon if need be? The wooden benches are secure, no loose boards. I draw in a breath, push my fear to the side, and open the closet. A hanging rod holds hangers and robes, but the hangers are all plastic. With a wire hanger, I could fashion some kind of device to at least poke an eye out, but plastic hangers give me nothing.

The changing room has separate enclosed stalls with hooks for clothes. I grasp one of the metal hooks. It’s bolted solidly in place. I check each one in each stall. No luck. Nothing in the shower, either.

The lockers are equipped with combination locks. I grab one, but what can I do with it? I check each locker, but they’re all empty. Not even a lone sock to make a slock—a lock you put inside a sock and swing at a target. You’d think I learned this trick from a parolee.

I didn’t.

I’ve known about slocks since I was a kid, unfortunately.

Damn!

I hate feeling helpless!

I was determined to never feel this way again.

Then I gasp and run into one of the stalls.

An oblong mirror is attached to the back wall of each stall. I curl my fingers around the metal lock in my hand and then hurl it at the mirror.

The glass shatters with a crash, and I turn quickly, covering my face with my arms to avoid any flying fragments.

I turn back around. Only a few fragments are large enough to use as weapons. I grab a towel from one of the shelves and place the fragments on it.

Then I repeat the process with the mirrors in the other two stalls.

I end up with five fragments in triangle shapes that could cause significant damage if aimed right.

I sigh. I’ll cut the hell out of my hands trying, though. I quickly grab another towel, and using the sharpest of the fragments very carefully, I rip through the towel and tear it into strips, which I wrap around both my hands. My dexterity will be compromised, but at least I have a better shot at not bleeding to death.

I wrap the fragments in the other towel and sit by the door.

And I wait.

3

FALCON

We’re here for her.

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