Page 152 of Cruel Juliet

I turn to the lock on the door. It’s bigger. I can’t unlock it, but with some luck, maybe I can jimmy it.

I work at it for the next ten minutes. Then for ten more. My fingers are raw, but I don’t even think of stopping.

And then, finally…

Click.

60

SIMA

Fuck, yes. It’s open.

I press an ear to the door. When I don’t hear any footsteps, I take off my shoes and slip out as quietly as I can.

My heart pounds as I creep down the hall. It reminds me so much of the first time I’ve run away. I’d snuck into the kitchen to pack some food for the road, and I was terrified of being discovered. Back then, my heart pounded like this, too.

I reach the winding staircase and strain my ears to listen for my father’s men. But for once, luck must be on my side, because I don’t hear anything. They’re probably patrolling outside. More afraid of Petyr than they are of me.

Thanks for underestimating me again, Dad.

I make my way down. Each step makes my heart hammer harder. I keep an ear out for creaks, but my socket feet are soft on the stairs, the wood gentle and giving.

Finally, I reach the foyer.

The front door appears before my eyes.

I don’t even give myself a second to process. I just sprint straight to it, hands outstretched for the knob?—

“Not so fucking fast.”

—and then my father’s hand closes around my hair.

I scream.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls. He’s never been much of a swearer, but then again, we were kids. He must have been holdingsomethingback, if only for appearances’ sake. “You’re coming with me.”

He yanks hard on my hair. My vision goes white with pain. It’s like my scalp is being pulled off, and as much as I want to pull the other way, I’m just not strong enough.

He drags me back upstairs like that. I’m kicking, screaming, my head on fire, but he doesn’t stop.

“You whore.” He spits that word at me like I didn’t learn it at his feet. “Running back to that Gubarev boy like a bitch in heat.”

Don’t say that.It’s the small, pathetic part of me that’s begging in my mind. The stupid little girl I never quite stopped being. The one who needed to be loved and protected by her father.Don’t say that to me.

But my father was never there to love or protect me. To him, I was never more than a tool.

“I should break both your legs for this,” he mutters halfway up. “Make sure you can’t pull this shit again.”

No.Cold dread mixes with the bright hot pain in my scalp.

He’ll do it. I can hear it in his voice—he means it.

And if he does…

Then I’ll never get out of here.

I start thrashing harder. “Let me go!”