Page 58 of Kept in the Dark

But I’m so, so cold. I could barely feel the gun clutched in my numb fingers.

I try to be ready and spring into action, but when the key scrapes into the lock and the hatch pops like a can, the light blinds me. I try to move, now that I have more room, and I find that I seem to be stuck in this position.

“Fuck. Nicole, I—” There’s a tightness that loosens in my chest as I recognize his deep voice, theNee-colelaced with something like pity or regret. “Can you move?”

I’m tempted to make a suggestion for where he can shove that false compassion, but he locks a hand around my ankle, and my pulse spikes in response. He’s firm and focused as he helps direct my leg up and out of the car.

Blood floods back into my limbs, bringing the tingling pain, making me wince. With my leg dangling, my torso is half-turned onto my back. My heart pounds into my throat as I watch his blurry face zero in on the bulge in my waistline that doesn’t belong there.

We both reach for the gun at the same time, but I get there first because it’s literally in my pants. It brings him close, and with a burst of strength from panic, I swing my foot up at him. I catch him square in the middle of his face. He spins away, hitting the corner of the lid, then falls heavily to the ground.

No time to celebrate a lucky shot. I clamber forward and hop out gracelessly, trying and failing to lift my other leg cleanly over the lip of the trunk. My foot catches, and it’s too much for legs that feel like jelly. I go down. Just in time, my hand flies out to catch my fall, but my chin bangs on the ground and the impact reverberates through me, making me bite my tongue hard enough to cut through at the tip. I cry out in pain.

But at least I keep a hold of the gun.

Pain blooms in my jaw, but I scramble to my feet. I keep the gun pointed at him as he rolls to his side.

“Stay down,” I say, gripping the gun in both hands and pointing it with what I hope is a look menacing enough to make up for the fact that my voice warbled.

“You are not going to shoot me,” he challenges, groaning.

Yeah, he’s recovering way too quickly, and he’s not as afraid of this thing as I assumed he would be.

I wish I knew how to cock it. I wish this weren’t the first time I’ve ever held a gun. It would really add some gravitas when I say, “Don’t make me. Stay down and for fuck’s sake, Dimitri, just let me go!”

My heart is pounding so hard I can barely think, but I look around as I decide where to go. Everything is blurry, but I can tell that we’re in some kind of cavernous garage where four of the eight bays are occupied. There’s a van against the opposite wall with some sort of insignia that I can’t make out, and a vague door-shape just beyond it that I can only see because it’s so big. I back towards that door, keeping my gun pointed directly at him.

Running feels stupid—following me as I grope blindly through unknown territory will be easier for Dimitri than shooting fish in a barrel. At least fish in a barrel can see where they’re fucking swimming.

But what else can I do?

When I’m nearly to the door, Dimitri starts making moves, rolling to his knees, calling my bluff.

“Nicole, let me explain.”

My time is up.

I push through the door and make a break for it. The same adrenaline that made me strong as I kicked him is making me fast now. Pale, early morning sunlight streams into my eyes as I try to get my bearings while I sprint. To my left is an absolutely enormous house, and the other way has rolling, soft hills of green. Do I chance the house? What if it’s just where he lives? And I can see the tips of a gate from where I am, so I don’t think I can go that way.

“Nicole!” he roars, and it echoes off the rubber floor and bare walls.

At the sound of his heavy footfalls behind me, I dart towards the backyard.

Fuck. Should have kicked him harder.

18

Mac

I can’t wait to bust his balls about this.

“Yo, D! Was that you at the gate?” I call up through the foyer as the massive oak doors swing shut behind me. I place my earbuds back in their case and wipe sweat from my brow.

All good on my run of the perimeter, and I caught the tail end of some old-ass clunker barreling up the drive. Dimitri and his weird obsession with 30-year-old cars. I’ll never get it.

“Hey, Mac…” Wes calls from the kitchen. “You’re going to want to see this.”

I head towards the sound of his voice and see that he’s standing in front of the windows by the French doors that lead out to the pool area. I weave around the giant marble island, snag an apple from the fruit bowl that my girl keeps stocked in the center, and join him as I take a juicy, loud crunch.