Page 38 of From Hell

“There are less impactful ways. Promise me you’ll look into them. Bus, train, boat, or even hitchhiking.”

“I wouldn’t let you hitchhike if it was the last method of travel on earth.”

Excuse me?“You wouldn’t let me?”

“You’re a beacon for disaster.” His lips twitch as I stare at him open-mouthed.

“I’d just drive you.”

“All the way?”

“Can’t be that far.”

I roll my eyes. “Knowing you, you’d book a suite on the Orient Express.”

“Knowing me?” He slides a chip into his mouth. His eyes are deep pools of liquid silver that I want to drown in. And in a dark part of my soul…I want to be that chip.At that thought, heat pools between my thighs.

Oh hell, what am I thinking? This is Jaxon. I can’t fall for him like everyone else.

Can I?

15

LAINE

Jaxon still hasn’t returned when a muffled “Laine!” and a rattling of the doorknob snaps me out of it.It’s Nola. I messaged her where to find me as soon as Jaxon left.

“It’s locked,” I hiss through the wooden door.

There’s a clicking of the mechanism, and then the door swings open to reveal Nola on the other side, lock pick kit in her hands, a twisted smile on her face. “It’s a good job I brought these with me.” She steps in and looks around. “Where’s Jaxon?”

I shrug. “He locked me in and left me.”

Her eyes widen. “He locked you in?”

“Did you find the archive room?” I counter, not wanting to mention to Nola how toxic Jaxon can be. She knows he got me the ticket to the ball, so as far as she’s aware, he’s an asset.

She gives me a long, hard look and then nods. “That I did.”

Nola leads. I follow her hurriedly to the end of a corridor, where a staircase descends, winding into the stone floor. At the base of the steps, an etching of a serpent slithering around a staff coils in the middle of the room like a crest. Gold-studded, ivy-covered wallpaper entwines the dark wood paneling like a starry night in a thick forest.

There’s only enough light to see the archive door.

“You remember how to jimmy a lock?” Nola asks.

“No.” In my pocket are her lock picks. Every so often, Nola takes me to some official public service building and makes me unpick the locks on random doors. Sometimes I can do it. Other times, I struggle with the mechanism. Once or twice, we got caught. I will say this about Nola, she can run.

“Fine. I’ll do it and then come back up here and keep watch. If anyone sees me, I’ll say I was looking for the ladies’ room,” she says.

I give my friend a nod, stark relief coursing through my body that I don’t have to do it. I was right to bring Nola instead of Sage.

Nola strides over and holds her hand out over her shoulder. I shove the lock pick kit into her palm, and she gets to work. Even though we’re moving quickly, it feels like we’re moving underwater. I don’t know how long we have; the last thing we need is to get caught.

Five seconds is all she needs.

“Okay, now you’re up. If anyone comes, I’ll send a message. Your phone is on silent, right?”

The archive room is empty when I slip inside. It’s hushed and low-lit and reminds me of a war-room bomb shelter stuffed away from prying eyes for a century, only recently discovered and updated with the minimum of tech. That’s how I know there are no cameras. The men who run this place think they’re untouchable and that they’re gods.That they can stalk me in the woods and break into my house.