Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I lean toward the door with my eyes closed, listening to the sound of the key turning in the lock. No matter how much I try, it’s impossible to scrub out the image of my kissing captors.

Through ragged breaths, I wait for their footsteps to groan up the stairs. I still don’t have a plan to escape, but I’ll die trying. Carla’s high-pitched squeal echoes down the stairwell and through the locked door, setting off waves of revulsion.

How could she? How could he? I can’t understand.

Turning away, I force back a swell of anger. All that effort I wasted, trying to convince Carla to leave her father, and they’re romantically involved. I was right the first time when I assumed ‘her old man’ was her significant other.

Stop this.

I need to focus. Need to find a way out of this hell. And dwelling on that unnatural association won’t magically unlock my cuffs.

My eyes snap open, and gaze lands on the breakfast tray still sitting on the box. Ignoring the garish display, I grab a small bottle of water, twist open the cap and take a long, desperate swig.

Cold liquid rushes down my tongue, soothing and sharp, hydrating the parched membranes of my throat and jolting me back to the present. It dribbles down my lips and onto my chest, catching a draft that makes me shiver.

Once I’ve drained the bottle dry, I set it aside and reach for the napkin, ready to wipe the spill.

Something metallic clinks on the tray, making me freeze. I glance down at the napkin, my breath quickening as I notice something hidden beneath the smooth fabric. It’s a ring of keys.noveldrama

For a millisecond, I still, and my mind goes blank.

What. The. Hell?

My heart lurches, slamming against my ribs, urging me to reach down and snatch the cold metal. The first key looks small enough for the cuffs on my legs, while the second is large and rusted and could fit a door.

Carla must have left them when she set down the tray, but was it on purpose or a mistake? Does it even matter when I have everything I need?

Gripping the smaller key so tight that the edges bite into my skin, I fit it into the lock of the ankle cuff and twist. It jams, the movement digging into my raw skin. After jiggling it back and forth, the cuff clicks open, releasing my foot.

I shake my leg, letting the metal fall to the concrete with a clatter. Every muscle groans in protest as I haul my body to standing, and my breath comes in ragged bursts.

This is it—I’m free, but it’s too early to celebrate. One misstep, and I’ll be back in chains.

Clutching together the edges of my room service shirt, I rush across the basement. The large key between my fingers feels heavier with each frantic second as if hesitating will trap my soul in this hellhole for an eternity.

I reach the door, slip the key in its lock, and give it a tentative twist. It grinds against the door’s rusty levers, creating a sound that slices through the dull roar of blood between my ears.

Turning the handle, I pull open the door and peek into a narrow stairwell. A low-wattage bulb casts dim light over the steps ascending into darkness. I creep out into a landing made of rough concrete, just as a deep groan drifts through the ceiling.

Shit.

It’s accompanied by a feminine moan that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Shaking off the disgust, I grip the railing and continue upward.

The wood warps beneath my weight, filling the stairwell with a groan. In my frazzled state, it may as well be a fire alarm. I freeze, my breath catching, my eyes snapping to the top of the stairs. That’s where a door looms, half open and waiting.

“One… two… three,” I whisper under my breath. “Move.”

I step forward, timing each footfall with Valentino’s deep moans, placing my weight on the rail. The cold air thickens with every step, the house seeming alive with its own malevolent heartbeat.

Common sense says they can’t hear a thing over the sounds of their pleasure, but paranoia urges me to stay cautious. My vision tunnels to the gap straight ahead, focusing on that sliver of freedom.

As I reach the top, the noises stops. My hand freezes on the doorknob. Frantic heartbeats pulse blood to my extremities, making my fingertips throb. Then Carla lets out a keening wail that echoes down the stairwell. The sound covers my exit, and I burst into the downstairs corridor.

It’s late morning. I can tell as much from the slivers of bright light slicing through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. Maybe it’s my PTSD, but this hallway looks entirely different from the one we entered last night.

Gritting my teeth, I stumble through the door, only to find faint beams of red illuminating the dust particles. It looks like a scene from Mission Impossible, but without the jarring sounds of sex.

My heart stalls. I glance at a camera mounted on the ceiling, its faint whirring barely audible over the drumroll of my pulse. Panic claws at my throat, but I force it back. There’s no way in heaven, hell, or Hogwarts that I’ll return to that basement.

Dropping to my belly, I slip the keys between my teeth, flatten my body against the floorboards, and ignore how much I ache. With bent elbows, I crawl across the rotten wood, my exposed skin catching on splinters.

I keep my head low, my chin tucked into my chest to avoid lifting even an inch too high and nicking one of those beams.

The floor shifts beneath my limbs, but I continue forward, timing my movements with the rhythmic creak of a bed and Carla’s unsettling moans.

Sweat beads on my forehead, mingling with the dust and dirt, blurring my vision as I focus on the end of the hallway. My heart pounds so fiercely I swear it echoes off the walls, but it’s a twisted comfort that their disgusting noises mask my clumsy escape.

The sounds from upstairs keep spilling down, louder and more frantic. Eventually, I reach the small patch of space in front of the door not covered by the sensors and ease my way up.

My chest heaves, and adrenaline courses through my veins as I pluck the keys from between my lips. I unlatch the door, ease it open, and freeze.

The deserted street is gone, replaced by a clearing of weeds, surrounded by dense woods. My mind spins, trying to piece together what’s wrong.

Last night, Carla parked on a road of detached houses. How the hell did I end up in a forest?

It doesn’t matter. I’m out, and I need to move. Rushing down the steps on bare feet, I reach a cracked path bisecting the untamed yard. I jog forward, just as a dog’s bark shatters the silence.

A window slams open, and I whirl around to see Valentino leaning out with a gun. “Freeze!” he growls, “Or I’ll deliver you to Montesano as a corpse.”