with my heart thudding loudly in my ears.
“You’re going to try to escape, and I’m going to tell them,” she breathes, giggling maniacally when I flail against her. “And hopefully they fucking kill you for it.”
Her hands begin to tighten further, and finally— fucking finally—my training
kicks in. I shoot my arm up between hers and twist my body with all my strength, sending her flying off the side of the bed.
The impact is loud, and we both freeze, waiting to hear if anyone woke.
Francesca stays on the bottom floor on the opposite side of the house, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be heard.
There are also always two or three men standing guard outside of the house,
ensuring none of us try to run.
Sydney’s eyes narrow, and I know she’s about to attack again. My legs are tangled in the blankets, so I react first, freeing my legs and then diving towards the end of the bed.
She charges at me, wrapping a hand around my ankle and attempting to drag
me back. I kick out hard, and her grip loosens enough for me to break free and
scramble off the other side of the bed.
Slowly, she stands, her chin dipped low as she stares up at me with pure evil
as we face off on either side of the bed.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I whisper-shout.
“I know what you have planned, and I’m not going to let it happen.”
It takes effort to keep my eyes from widening, and the stricken look off my
face.
“I don’t have anything planned,” I vehemently deny.
She ignores me. “You don’t get to be treated better than the rest of us, then escape your fate,” she growls.
“Treated better?” I echo on a bewildered laugh. “You’ve been getting me in
trouble since I got here!”
“And yet she still loves you more,” she hisses back. I shake my head,
absolutely astonished that she believes that. Francesca sees me as a dollar sign—
a substantial one. She doesn’t love anyone more than herself.
“Maybe she would love you if you didn’t act like a fucking psycho bitch,” I
clip, growing angry. She begins to circle the bed toward me, and I realize belatedly that I’m cornered.
“I’m telling Francesca about your plans,” she says, ignoring my jab.
“What plans?” I ask, playing stupid and hoping she doesn’t actually know a
damn thing. For the past two months, I’ve been working out different ways to escape once I’m taken out of here, and after Claire blindsided me last night, I came up with a few ideas that could work now that I’m no longer being auctioned. But Sydney is about to fucking ruin them.
She points to my floor, and my face drops in horror. My head snaps back to
her in shock.
“How did you know about that?”
She shrugs, a joyous grin curling her lips. Gradually, a sick realization sets in.
She was the person standing inside the wall, watching me sleep that night.
She must’ve hid when I spotted her, then resumed watching me when I found the
journal.
Jesus, how long has she been reading it? And how often has she watched me
fucking sleep?
“How did you get behind the wall?”
She shrugs, grinning wildly. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about this house, diamond. I know everyone’s secrets, including Francesca’s. Why do you think she’s allowed me to stay for so long?”
“What secrets?”
“Like I’d ever tell you,” she scoffs.
I’ve no idea what she could possibly have on Francesca, but I don’t care.
What I do know is that one of us is not walking out of this room alive tonight.
If Francesca finds out I’m planning to escape and how, they’ll do everything
in their power to make sure I never get away
Not going to fucking happen.
They’ll have to lock me in a submarine in the middle of the goddamn ocean
to keep me away from Zade.
I stand in the corner of the room, while she lingers at the edge of my bed, possibly sensing the conclusion I’ve come to. Whether it’s because she notes the determination that must be etched into my expression, or the fact that I’m not leaping over the bed to escape.
Time slows for a few seconds, both of us still. And then we’re springing into
action simultaneously. She charges for me while I dart toward my nightstand. I
hoarded a couple of pens in the drawer in the case I ran out of ink, and now, they’re the only things that may save my life. Not from Sydney—but from Xavier.
She grabs ahold of my hair just as I rip open the drawer and locate one of them, my fingers curling around it while she swings me towards the wall. I crash into it painfully, the back of my fist swinging out sightlessly to dislodge her from my hair.
Teeth sink into my shoulder, clamping down with all her strength. A high-pitched yelp escapes past my lips. I bite back the scream threatening to rip from my throat, feeling blood spurting from around her teeth.
Blinded with pain, I raise my hand and stab the pen anywhere I can reach, feeling the pen sink past flesh and sinew. She releases me with a strangled yelp, but before she can move away, I grab ahold of her and send us both careening to
the ground, no longer caring if we’re caught.
Fuck this bitch.
We roll for a few seconds, fighting for control. I manage to gain purchase and
twist on top of her, using one hand to slap away her claws, and the other to plunge the pen into her neck. My hand slips, the pen slick from her blood as I impale it into flesh.
Her nails rake across my face, leaving stinging trails, but they fade into the background as I keep stabbing her blindly, managing to hold on to the slippery pen only by sheer determination. Over and over, I stab her, exhaustion sinking into my bones quickly, but pure adrenaline and panic keep me going. Finally, she goes limp, blood pooling around us.
I’m panting heavily, soaked in blood, and delirious from the adrenaline. My
body is going into shock, and all five of my senses are on lockdown, nothing penetrating past the shroud of numbness.
I just gaze down at her body, now riddled with holes. She stares sightlessly up
at the ceiling, and I find that her eyes don’t look any different than when she was
alive.