Page 41 of Sweet Deception

The stench of recycled mop water and lukewarm confections assault my nose as I peruse the aisles of this linoleum-floored hole in the wall. A bored attendant at the counter with a full beard chews gum while college kids on a late-night adventure wander around, ranking their favorite microwaveable dinners.

I ignore how the other customers edge away from my manic energy.

Focused and moving quickly, I nip a few cans of gourmet cat food off a shelf.

Then I grab some assorted grocery items from the other end of the shop. Shockingly, there’s a selection of fruit and veggies.

This mundane errand does nothing to quiet my racing thoughts about Veronika…

How am I going to get the information I need without hurting her if she refuses to talk to me?

Is she in some kind of trouble?

What game is she playing?

Why is her scent still filling up my car?

Fuck.At least the kitten will eat well tonight.

Chapter Fifteen

I stopped shouting his name the second the unmistakable roar of his sports car carried to my ears, engine revving to life and tearing into the night. As pissed as I was that he locked me in here like some princess in a tower, my anxiety has settled with him gone.

Back in the room, I rest my strained voice and pour all my energy into breaking out of this place however I can. For the better part of an hour, I try everything to get the door to budge. But he bolted the damn thing shut, and even if I could swing one of those small wooden bedside tables at the windows hard enough to break them, the bars and two-story drop would still hinder my escape. Well, the bars would.

Defeated and sweaty, with the weight of the day bearing down on me as well as the time—it’s the middle of the night, and I’m usually in bed by ten—I finally decide to shower.

He wasn’t lying about the dresser and the closet in this strangely shaped room.

Various clothes of different sizes and fabrics sit piled in the darkness and hang beyond the closet door. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll find, but the shower calls to me as it always does when I’m stressed and my back is up against the proverbial wall.

I rifle through a dresser drawer until I unearth a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. They’ll all be giant on me, but whatever. I’m not here for a fashion show. I fold them under my arm, kick off my shoes, and pad into the bathroom, closing the door and flipping the lock behind me.

My pulse flutters when I remember the smug edge to Darren’s expression as he held up the bathroom door key.

Screw him.

If I understand him at all, I know he’ll return and sneak up on me. This time, I’ll be ready for the bastard.

Setting my stack of clothes down on the back of the toilet, I move to the sink, squat down, and yank open the cabinet doors. I’ll fashion a weapon out of something,anything.Resourceful is my middle name. Foster homes do that for a girl, building skills like emotional avoidance and creative self-defense.

I don’t find much beneath the sink. Just a few bottles of cleaning supplies and a gallon-sized container of shampoo meant to refill the smaller bottle in the shower. A giant, hard, plastic jug of shampoo? This is the best I can do?

I haul it out from under the sink and balance it on a corner of the counter.

Unconventional? Absolutely.

But I’m not going to let that stop me.

A plan comes together as I unscrew the cap.

I pour some shampoo on the tile just in front of the door before stripping naked and climbing into the shower.

Soon, glorious hot water rains down on me, helping to clear my cluttered mind.

Playtime’s over. I need to find a way off this property, get to Mrs. Guseva’s, and disappear before Darren or anyone else can locate me.

Saving Lucy is too important.