Page 8 of Cruel Debts (Killers of Port Wylde #4)

SEVEN

TRINITY

Two months, six days, and twelve hours. That was how long I’d been a captive of this asshole whose name I still didn’t know.

But that was about to change.

He made the mistake of leaving me unsupervised during a thunderstorm, choosing to ride out the storm at the club he frequented.

My club. My place of work, which probably thought I’d fallen off the face of the earth at this point.

I wondered if my spot was still there, if Minnie would honor her word if I ever made it out of this hell alive.

There was a corner of the house where the roof leaked, and of course, The Prick’s office had to be relocated because of it.

However, he hadn’t had time to reinstall the cameras or security system from his old room in the new locale, which meant that when the power went out because of the high winds, I had an opportunity I’d likely never have again.

I could get into his office, bypass the electronic locks, and maybe get to a phone.

Maybe I could even find out who the fuck he was and where I was, enough to get a hold of law enforcement and call for help.

Or, if I could get out of the house and off the property undiscovered, I could use that intel to get my bearings. Make an escape.

Who knew how far I’d have to run, though? Would he chase after me? Did I know too much already? Was it pointless to escape if there was nowhere I could hide when I was finally free again?

Minnie wouldn’t protect me. She was just a club owner, for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t expect her to do that for me. I was just some girl she’d hired off the street to paint men and women on artists’ night. I was a paid attraction that pulled in customers for her.

I was nobody to her. To anyone in this godforsaken town.

I slipped silently down the hall in the dark, listening and watching for his night guards so that I could hide if they got too close.

Thankfully, they were too busy trying to get the generators started to pay me any mind.

Before the two minutes I’d allotted myself were up, I was safely in the other end of the house, standing in front of the new office’s door.

The card I’d lifted from some junk mail shook slightly as I lifted it to slide between the door bolt and the frame.

Carding my way into a house wasn’t exactly a skill I’d thought I would need in my life, but it had come in handy when I got to an age where sneaking out without my parents knowing was not only encouraged, but a survival tactic.

The door popped open with a little click, and I held my breath, sure that I’d be caught at any moment. If I didn’t hurry, I’d be stuck in here when the power came back on, and then wouldn’t that be a hell of a way to get caught? Probably be the death of me, if we were being honest.

Let’s face it, as an oil mogul’s spoiled, rich daughter, I didn’t have the best of survival instincts. I relied on others to dig me out of the holes I shoveled my way into. But now, here, there was nobody to dig me out. I was on my own this time.

I thanked my lucky stars that I’d paid for a couple of months’ rent in advance when I got the first deposit from this douchebag. At least I’d still have a house to return to when this was all over.

I rifled through his desk using nothing but the moonlight, almost shouting in excitement when I came across not only my now-dead cellphone, but an official invite still in the open envelope. It had an address on the front—one on the far side of town from where he’d picked me up for the job.

And inside, a name: Tennecent Frye.

Above that name, which I took to be his, was a flowing, scrawling script that described the event he’d been invited to.

[You’re cordially invited to the private estate auction of the late Henry Walters.

Items of interest include his residence, vehicle collection, watersports vehicles, and live summer collection of arm adornments.

Bidding will begin at precisely 10 PM on Monday.

Please show this invite to the doorman on arrival to access this exclusive event. ]

Whoever this was, whatever this was, I suspected that more girls were about to be auctioned off, hence the ‘live summer collection’ comment.

I was lucky that I hadn’t been sold off to the highest bidder at this point.

Who knew how much longer I’d be safe in this house if I didn’t choose to do something?

Stuffing the invitation in my apron, one of the only articles of clothing I was given to wear, I hurried out of the office, scampering to secure the door and vacate the area before the power came back.

It was only a matter of time, after all.

The generators were old, but they were still operational.

It was a miracle they hadn’t figured them out by now.

Just then, loud shouting and gunshots broke out on one end of the property outside the house, startling me into action.

If ever there was a sign to run for it, this was it.

I grabbed a pair of The Prick’s house slippers from a nearby closet and a coat hanging forgotten in the back corner, covering myself as I made for the kitchen. A back door there led out onto the grounds, away from the sound of the gunfight on the front lawn.

If I can just make it there, slip out, maybe ? —

“Hey, what are you doing down here?”

A lone guard must’ve been left to roam the halls, because just then, he turned into the hall and caught me dead to rights standing in the middle of the damn thing, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

Run. Run, you idiot!

I listened to that instinct, that inner voice, the fear coursing through my body as I turned on my heel and sprinted for the kitchen, hoping the guard was shocked enough to buy me a head start.

My hand curled around the fucking doorknob just as two strong hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me from the ground, foiling my escape plans.

“You’re not going anywhere, bitch.”

I screamed. My legs flailed as I panicked, and as luck would have it, one of my heels landed square in the guard’s junk.

Just like that, I was free, his hands gone, my feet back on the floor as he sank to his knees, the wind knocked out of him, turning a pale shade of green as I twisted the knob of the door and made a run for it.

It was now or never.

As I fled into the cold night air, my only regret was not sticking around to shoot the fucker myself.

As police sirens echoed in the night air, I had to make a decision—trust the cops and head in their direction, hoping they survived the gunfight with the guards at the house, or keep going on my own, trusting that I’d either be forgotten or not be missed in the fray.

Maybe Frye would come home and think I’d been shot while trying to escape. Or maybe the guard would run his mouth, and then there’d be a target on my back.

But the cops weren’t to be trusted. Especially not when one of them was wearing my missing brother’s identity.

I hadn’t forgotten about that bastard I ran into at the bar the night of the party. The whole reason I decided to come here and seek out answers about my brother in the first place.

Detective Keehn McCoy. Whoever he really was, he was not my brother. And I wasn’t about to let him walk away until I’d figured out exactly what role he played in the real Keehn’s disappearance.

But if I couldn’t trust the cops, that didn’t leave me with many options.

I didn’t exactly cultivate many friends while I was here in Port Wylde.

All I had were the two girls I worked with at the club and the owner, Minnie.

I couldn’t go running home to Daddy, as much as I knew he’d find a way to fix this mess.

I was old enough to fix my own fuck ups.

I didn’t need to give my parents one more reason to insist I wasn’t grown up enough to make my own decisions.

Before I could blink, I’d be married off to one of his fellow moguls’ annoying sons, enduring ten minutes of sex a week while being expected to turn that into children.

No, thank you.

I was not the kind of girl who did well at barbecues with the stuffy assholes my parents called peers. I didn’t like mingling with people with more money than personality. I was the quintessential brat in every sense of the word—at least that’s what my parents would say.

Parents I might never get to see again, if I didn’t figure something out fast.

Sighing, I tugged the coat tighter around me, tied the sash, and set off in what I hoped was the direction of the end of this affluent ass neighborhood.

I just hoped the cops were too involved with the shit at the house to pay a random girl walking down the street barefoot any attention.

Maybe, if I made it to the club, I could gather my spare cash and belongings, take a shower, and regroup. I could figure something out and go on the run, if I had to. If there was no other option.

There was a surprisingly high amount of gravel and broken glass on the sidewalk in such a nice, rich neighborhood.

The soles of my feet screamed all the way back to the club.

“Absolutely not.”

Minnie had taken one look at me and chased me up into the loft apartment I rented from her, insisting she inspect me for harm.

Satisfied with her inspection of my body, she had ushered me into the shower to wash off the ick from my experience and had whipped her phone out, sitting on the toilet as she texted someone furiously and wrang more details out of me.

“You’re not going anywhere, little miss.

You’re staying right here, and I’ll make sure that fuckwad is dealt with.

” She frowned when I reached out to grab a towel, suddenly more self-conscious than I’d ever been in my life.

“I’m going to reach out to someone who owes me a favor now, and I’m going to cash in on some protection for you. ”

A favor? “You’re hiring me some bodyguards? No thanks.” Last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to myself by having a tail.