The Woman in the Trunk

I heard the shower turn on in Lorenzo's room, and it took actual effort not to imagine his naked body climbing in there.

I don't know how long I stood there, some strange thought niggling me at the back of my mind, something that wanted to be acknowledged, brought forward.

But it escaped me for a long time before I finally remembered.

I had broken out of the building.

And I had looked upward when I turned down the side street.

All the way up.

To Lorenzo's apartment.

Where there had been a fire escape.

A fire escape that I hadn't seen outside any of the windows in the apartment.

It had to have been in Lorenzo's room, though, based on the placement. Not the bathroom. That one had a solid obscured glass window. Not the large windows over his bed, either.

What did that leave?

"Oh my God," I hissed, placing my mug on the counter, trying to gauge how long I had before he would get out of the bathroom.

Maybe long enough.

For me to sneak into his closet, find the window, open it, and climb out.

A patient, rational voice told me to wait, to see if he left, to try it then, when maybe I wouldn't be seen.

But I had no idea if I was going to be given the same freedom as before, if I was going to be locked in my room when he left.

If he locked me up at night, despite the guard at the bottom of the elevator, chances were I wasn't going to be allowed to walk around the apartment anymore.

It was now or never.

On that idea, I ran through the apartment, going into the closet, cringing as I carefully clicked the door closed, as though he would hear it over the water slapping against the tile in his shower.

The closet was as big as my bedroom at my apartment, built-in wooden units lining both sides, suits and shirts and slacks hanging, gleaming leather shoes lined up on the lower shelf, expensive watches in a tray at eye-level alongside an impressive assortment of cuffs-links. There was no way windows were on those sides, with the one wall butting up to the bathroom, and the other lining the hallway.

So it was the small wall directly forward.

With another built-in there.

And an assortment of random items.

My hands went frantically for each of them, pulling, then putting them back into place, knowing one of them had to be false, had to be a lever to unlock the false back, to expose the window.

Desperation was a snake coiling in my belly as my hands fumbled, nearly dropping one of the boxes there before I finally found a lever near the back, and when I pulled it. It let out a hissing sound as the lock released.

Carefully, I grabbed the edge of the cabinet, pulling it away, back and all, exposing another of the apartment's massive windows, but this one with a sill that lifted.

Close.

So damn close.

I pulled the window up, feeling the humid summer air slap me in the face as I glanced outward, making sure the fire escape was there, intact, usable.

As a whole, I wasn't afraid of heights. I'd grown up in high-floor apartments for most of my life. But not penthouse high, that was for sure. My stomach felt wobbly as my hands grabbed onto the slatted metal bottom of the fire escape.

I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to make it down in a rush without tripping, then possibly falling to my death, splattering on the pavement below, but I knew it was my only choice.

My knee lifted as my hands moved further out, trying to grab the rungs.

Just as I was hauling my body weight up and out, a hand closed around my throat, hard enough to cut off my air, making my stomach pitch, my leg falling instinctively.

He hadn't made a single sound.

Or maybe he had, but I had been deafened by the pounding of my own heart.

"You're one hell of a fighter, I'll give you that," Lorenzo said, pulling my back flush against his bare, hot chest. I could feel the remnants of his warm shower through my clothes, making a shiver course through me as his other arm anchored around my lower stomach, holding me completely captive.

I wasn't sure I had ever felt smaller than I felt in that moment.

"How did you know?" I asked, defeat a sinking sensation inside. I'd never get another chance now. I was fully at Lorenzo's mercy, at my father's mercy, at Arturo Costa's mercy: all these men, not one of which had my best interest at heart.

What an awful, helpless feeling that was.

Awful enough that the impossible happened. Tears burned my eyes, making me close them tight as a humiliating, pathetic strobe-like gasping sound escaped me, a surefire tell.

"Hey," Lorenzo said, releasing my throat, his other hand sliding toward my hip, turning me, pressing me back against the wall at my side. "Look at me," he demanded, snagging my chin, forcing it upward.