Page 32 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Alone in this place, I’m haunted by the ghosts of the past.

Even with the all-but-mute bodyguards who stand like columns before every exit, barely moving or making a sound, this safe house feels hollow now.

If not for Piro, my sanity would be long gone.

Even my kitten seems to be taking this to heart.

Restless and uneasy, he paces between the bedroom windows. This space has never felt more like a cell. Piro hops into the sills and mewls softly whenever distant road noise reaches our ears, as if one of the travelers might bring Darren back.

In my memory, the growl of his sports car echoes like a song I can’t forget.

The last time I felt this much misery, I’d woken up alone in the hospital to the news of my grandmother’s death. And as soon as my leg healed, I landed in a group home.

Surviving the monotony of this place is impossible. The visceral, cutting bite of abandonment bears down on me every second.

The blanket Darren covered me with still lies rumpled on the couch where we worked side by side. Where he put his lips on mine, where he pulled me into his lap and held me close. Where we devoured each other in the dark hours of the night…

His coffee mug sits unwashed in the sink, a reminder of our early mornings.

His scent is everywhere. I didn’t notice it before, but without him, my senses have gone into overdrive, straining to capture the vestiges of proof that he was ever here to begin with. That anything that happened between us was real…

Shaking my head to disperse the painful thoughts, I blink away the moisture gathering in my eyes before tears can form and focus on Piro as he leaps onto the windowsill yet again, ears perked in the direction of the driveway.

He turns his head to me and cocks it, his little blue-gray eyes inquisitive.

They’re sort of reminiscent of Darren’s. Bozhe moy…

With a hard sigh, I fold my arms. “He’s not coming back, little one.”

But even as I say this, my eyes drift to the wall surrounding the property. I’m envisioning the road beyond it, fantasizing about what Darren’s return would look like. What would I say to him?

Screw you for leaving me here again.

How could you just abandon me?

I missed you.

Holding myself tighter, I spin away from the window and pace into the bathroom, where I splash cold water over my face and try to reclaim whatever sanity I have left.

What’s the matter with me?

I was abducted while trying to find Lucy, and now I’m longing for the man who captured me?

Despite every furious cell in my body demanding that I never shed another tear again, heat prickles the back of my eyes.

I’m angry and confused and desperate to get out of here, that’s all.

I refuse to believe that…that horrible man means something to me.

How could he? I certainly don’t mean anything to him. He walked out of here without a single word, with no intention of returning.

Still, every corner of this place harbors an echo…of his laugh, his touch, the way he observed me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Even this bathroom. I can’t come in here without remembering the way he fell, how we wrestled like children until he got the better of me.

My stomach rumbles. Despite the way hunger fills me with longing for his cooking, I’m thankful for the distraction. I can’t stand to be in here anymore. Not with all these unfamiliar emotions running rampant in my mind.

I scoop up Piro and wander downstairs. Even though I’m not officially sequestered to my room, I hate to leave it. Wandering anywhere else in the house means I’m within sight of the bodyguards or I’m being bombarded with memories of my time with Darren.

When the guards come into view, they stiffen, like they’re trying to appear extra intimidating.

I move cautiously, careful to stay as far from them as possible while I round the corner into the kitchen to forage for food.

As I dig around in the refrigerator, Piro jumps up onto the counter where Darren fed him bits of egg and tosses me an expectant look.

Before I return to my bedroom, I retrieve a small kitchen knife, just in case. Back upstairs, I lie down, Piro climbing up onto the mattress and curling around my ankles as if sensing my turmoil.

For a while, all I can think about is Lucy.

She doesn’t have time for me to play prisoner here. I don’t have the luxury of hoping these men might care enough to help. I need to get back to my mission.

After observing the guards the past few days, I know they change shifts at dusk.

I’ll only have minutes between their perimeter sweeps. It won’t be much of a window, but for Lucy, and for all the girls ensnared in Troy’s web, it will have to be enough.

My fingers trace the cool metal of the kitchen blade while Piro headbutts my other hand, purring.

I made a promise. To Maya. To myself. I won’t just stand by while Lucy’s life hangs in the balance.

Not even for a man who cuts through my loneliness like moonlight through fog.

But I can’t go back to my apartment either.

Maybe with what I know, I can secure actual police involvement. If not, I’ll get to Mrs. Guseva’s and work out my next move.

I wait until early evening, counting the minutes until the guards’ next shift change.

There’s only one window in this place that doesn’t have bars on it. The one in my bathroom. Naturally, they didn’t think anyone would be small or flexible enough to squeeze through the frame. It’s my best shot.

When the time comes, I gather up Piro, settle him snug inside my bra, lock myself in the bathroom, and switch on the shower to allay any suspicion. Then I head for the window set high into the wall above the toilet. Standing on the closed lid, I make quick work of the lock with the kitchen knife.

Once I’ve gotten it open, an evening breeze ruffles my hair. I pull down the screen, stick my head out, and peer straight down. Tendrils of English ivy wind up the walls. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to use the mature vine to climb all the way down. I think.

After I’ve surveyed my escape route and cast a glance toward the gate—empty, since the guards are checking the perimeter—I use the wall on both sides of the toilet and all my yoga and dance training to maneuver myself out the window, feet first.

The escape itself is almost too easy. The men assigned to guard me seem far more versed in keeping people out than in.

Piro meows as I pant and huff. Squeezing bunches of ivy vines for dear life, I attempt to find footholds with my toes, descending the wall bit by bit.

Blood pounds in my ears as I hoist myself down.

Some of the ivy rips free from the safe house’s exterior wall, leaving me supporting myself with only one hand. I press myself against the wall, and my injured thigh scrapes against a particularly rough patch of brick.

As I squirm from the pain, the ivy breaks away. With several feet to go, I start falling, bracing for impact as the dusky sky expands above me.

Scrunching my eyes closed, I wait for the pain?—

Only to land in a pair of strong, familiar arms.

My eyes snap open, but I’m sure I’m hallucinating.

Darren cradles me the same way he did the night I received these cuts and bruises.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” His voice is a rough murmur, his laser-beam eyes wild and intent.

With the secure grip he has on my body, it feels like he’ll never let me go.