Page 92

“Sloane is here, so it’s not a problem,” I quipped instead.

“I don’t know, Bianca.” Sloane squatted and studied the roughly two-foot-diameter stain. “I don’t want to make it worse.” She picked up the edge of the carpet and ran her fingers several times over the back. “This is an antique.”

“I won’t hold you liable,” I said. “I’ll sign anything.”

“If you all don’t need me,” Sticks said, backing out of the room. “I’ll go back outside.”

Despite my costly actions, I laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t think Sandro intended for you to be responsible for my housebreaking.”

He waved me off.

When we heard the front door close, Sloane stood. “This is a nutty plan.” I’d already briefed her on my scheme so shewouldn’t contradict me on anything in front of Sticks. “But I love it.”

“Is it really hard to remove the stain?” I asked.

“I can remove it. The question is the damage it will leave on the carpet.” Then she winked. “Just kidding. But the cleaning foam, brush, and a lot of patience should do the job. But I’m more interested in the other plan.”

The other plan meaning escaping the house that had been my prison for over two weeks. Why not just wait it out?

Because another day of Divina’s anxiety might drive me over the edge.

And I wasn’t waiting around for Dad or Dom to execute a retaliation. Desperate times and all that. What if they acted out of character and only escalated the problem?

Forgive me, Sandro.

Forty-five minutes later, I was climbing into the back of Sloane’s van. She parked it in a blind spot to the surveillance cameras. Divina was keeping watch from the foyer and told me Sticks was in the bunkhouse.

Sloane joked she could roll me in a carpet and load me into the van using a hand truck. I didn’t tell her I wouldn’t oppose such an idea as a last resort.

“Now is the time to say no,” she said with her hand on the door.

“What the fuck!” Sticks’s voice boomed from behind us.

“Shit,” Sloane muttered and moved aside, leaving me in full view of Sticks with a worried Divina scampering after him.

His face was etched in disbelief, and I could say he was angry. I’d seen his resting dick face at the club when he intimidated entitled patrons, and right now, his scary-bouncer mode had been activated.

Sloane stepped in front of him. There was something in her hand.

“Move aside,” Sticks growled.

“Sorry, Sticks,” Sloane said and zapped him with a stun gun.

My mouth dropped open when Sticks went down like a pile of bricks.

I jumped out of the van, worried. “He might have a concussion.”

“Oh my God, Sloane,” Divina shrieked. “What did you do?”

Without answering her friend, Sloane went to the van and grabbed two rolls of duct tape, tossing one to me. “Bind his legs.”

I didn’t hesitate. She tipped Sticks on his chest and stood-straddled over his body to bind his wrists behind his back.

When Sticks was coming around, Sloane tore off a piece of tape and plastered it on his mouth.

“This is not your first rodeo, is it?” I asked.

I finished rolling the duct tape around Sticks’s ankles.