Page 127 of Hold On

“One last kiss?”

“Not a last kiss.”

It felt like a last kiss. They both poured everything they had into it, and Dominic even forgot for a moment that his leg was broken, that he was going to have to hide in a dark space and that if the idiots downstairs decided to burn the place down, he’d burn with it. This kiss had to sustain him. When they broke apart, Dominic could barely breathe.

Getting into the eaves wasn’t easy, but it was boarded and carpeted which was something. He scooted backwards, and eventually reached the spot Ren had covered with Christmas cushions. Ren crawled after him and put the bottles by his side.

“If you hear noises in the room, pull this empty box on top of you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Don’t take any risks.”

Ren piled up the boxes he’d taken out and gradually the space was filled.

“See you soon,” Ren whispered, then the door closed and Dominic was in the dark.

Prison should have trained him for this, being closed up in a small space, but now he’d had a taste of freedom, being confined made him more anxious than he’d ever have thought. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what Ren was doing, willing him to make it to the ground without injury, hoping he’d quickly find help and all would be well.

I cannot fail.The three words that kept running through Ren’s head. He’d got Dominic into this mess, now he had to get him out of it. But if that fucking window didn’t open, Ren wasn’t sure what he was going to do. When the window moved as he lifted the handle, he let out a shaky breath. It was key operated and if it had been locked in place… But his relief caught in his throat when he pushed at the frame and it barely moved before jamming. He panicked for a moment, then spotted the safety catch, pulled the window towards him and slipped the hook free. Then the window opened fully.

Ren looked down. The flat roof of the kitchen-living area was below but there was a short stretch of tiled roof under the window. He climbed out, leaving the window open and carefully crab-walked up to the ridge line, trying to keep his weight even. If he broke a tile and it fell, that was probably the end.

When he reached the apex of the roof, he kept low in case there was anyone out the front, but it seemed to be clear. The bad news was that this house sat alone, surrounded by fields. No neighbours on either side. The better news was that he could see lights in the distance from what could be a pub.

The easy bit was done. What he had to do now was much trickier. Slide down sideways on his belly and hope the guttering was strong enough to support him while he lowered his feet onto a windowsill. Or risk the drainpipe he’d spotted on the far side. He didn’t have time to hesitate. He was less likely to be seen if he climbed down the drainpipe.

At least this was a recently built house so the drainpipe should be well secured, but after Ren had made his way to the edge of the roof, the next step terrified him. He turned onto his hands and knees and gripping the guttering, he let his legs swing off the roof.

Shit! I’m not strong enough.He could feel his fingers beginning to slip as he lowered himself down. But a moment later, he had his stockinged feet pressed against the pipe—should have done this barefoot—then his hands and then it was a matter of carefully shimmying down. The pipe held and when his feet touched the brick drive, he felt like kissing it.No time.He scooted over the hedge and into the field. Then he ran along the hedgerow, trying not to react to the stabs of pain when he trod on stones and brambles. At least he was wearing socks.

In theory, if he’d been on the road on the other side of the hedge, he could have flagged down a car. But what if he ended up flagging down Levan? His head told him that the guy couldn’t get herethatquickly, but then Ren didn’t know that he wasn’t already in the country. Being cautious gave him and Dominic the best chance. Ren needed to find a pub or a house. When he reached the end of the field and glanced back, he couldn’t see the house. Now he hoped they didn’t go up to the top floor any time soon.

He kept going as fast as he could, but there was no sign of any dwellings. Nor was there much traffic on the road. All he needed was access to a phone. He came to a gate and when he peered over it, he saw he’d reached a crossroads. A choice of three directions. What he’d thought was a pub should be on the right. He climbed up the gate and looked around and spotted lights about a half a mile away.

Something was still telling him to stay off the road and when he climbed over the gate, he hurried across the tarmac and clambered over another gate into a wheat field. Ren stayed on the grassy edge and moved as quickly as he could. At least there were no brambles now. He was trying not to think about what might be happening back at the house.

He really hoped this was a pub he was heading towards. It had looked too big for a house. A pub meant more people, less chance of Tengiz being able to do anything if he found him.

He almost fell through some bushes into the car park. There were a few people drinking at tables in the beer garden but he made for the building because he needed to stay out of sight. His heart was hammering so hard, Ren felt as if it was beating all over his body. He ran up to the back door and pushed it open. As he stood wondering which door to try, a guy in chef’s whites came out of the nearest one.

“This isn’t the entrance.”

“I need help,” Ren said quickly. “I’ve been kidnapped. I need to call the police.”

The guy laughed. “You on a stag do?”

“No. Please let me borrow your phone. Once they realise I’m missing, they’ll look for me and if they find me, they’ll kill me.” Probably not but Ren needed the guy to understand the danger.

The man chuckled. “You’re drunk.”

Fuck!“I’m not. I’m serious. Please. This isn’t a joke or some crazy challenge where I have to pretend some situation so I win money. I need your phone. Lives are at stake.”

The guy stared at him a moment, then unlocked his phone and handed it to Ren.

“Thank you.” Ren tapped in the number.

“That wasn’t 999,” the chef said.

“It’s Scotland Yard.”

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