The Dark Elite (The Dark Elite 1)

I scramble to the bathroom, then crouch by the cabinet and open it quickly. I grab the ancient flip phone with shaking hands and dial Brian’s number, noticing as I do that the battery icon is almost completely empty.

Please don’t die on me. Please…

He picks up after a single ring.

“Grace?”

“Brian?” My voice trembles, relief and guilt expanding in my chest. “Brian, thank god. I don’t know—”

“I’m here, Grace,” he says in a rush, interrupting me. “In Chicago. I’m coming to get you. I flew into the city the moment you called last time. I didn’t want to call you in case the phone rang and put you into more trouble.”

“You’re here?” My heart races. He’s so close. So close.

“Yes. I’ve done some digging into the Novak Syndicate.” His voice is strained. “They’re the real fucking deal, Grace. These guys don’t mess around. What the hell do they want with you?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t have time to go into everything with him now; it’s too fucking complicated to explain in a single sentence. There’s a lot I’ll have to tell him once I get out of here, but first, I have to focus on getting out alive.

“I haven’t involved local police,” Brian goes on, not pressing me for an answer. I can hear the urgency in his tone too, and I know he’s as aware as I am that if I don’t get out soon, I may never get out. “I didn’t know if I could trust them, and I didn’t want to risk putting you in danger. Do you know where you are?”

“No.” I shake my head, tears burning my eyes as I glance furtively toward the door again. “I haven’t been let outside. My curtains are always closed.”

“Fuck.”

“But I have to get out, Brian,” I say hurriedly. “Tonight. Right now. I might not ever get another chance. It doesn’t matter where I am. I’ll get out, and then I’ll call you, okay? You can come find me.”

“Grace, no. You can’t do that on your own—”

“I have to.” I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see me. “It’s the only way. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

There’s a long pause, and I can imagine Brian running through every possible scenario, trying to come up with another option. But there isn’t one. I know there isn’t.

He must reach the same conclusion I have, because he makes a low, angry sound in his throat. “Fine. But be fucking safe.” He drags in a breath. “Please.”

“I will.” My heart thuds heavily against my ribs. “I’ll call you in a little bit. Hopefully.”

I hang up the phone, adrenaline racing through me as I glance at the battery indicator again. The phone hasn’t been plugged in since I stole it, and I don’t know how much power it still has left.

I need to get out now while everyone is distracted. Hale is one of my biggest problems, the most suspicious of me, and he’s drunk—probably passed out right now. So I just need to find a way of getting out without alerting any of the other men.

“Think, Grace, think,” I mutter, stuffing the phone into my pocket.

Mafia security is vicious, which means I can’t just walk out the front door. But there has to be another way out, one that will get me out of the house without drawing attention—at least, not right away.

I slip out of the bathroom and quickly put on the pair of shoes the men gave me, then slowly turn the bedroom door handle. The hall is empty, and I don’t hear any noises coming from Hale’s office. Thank fuck.

The house is big, so I try to stick to a route I know, creeping down the wide staircase I’ve been led up and down a few times now. If I can get downstairs and find an unlocked window, that might be my best bet, but I need to avoid the domestic areas the men frequent most often—living spaces, kitchen, anywhere with bedrooms. It’s late, which means hopefully most of them will be asleep.

Please, god, let my luck hold.

I take the rest of the steps at a dangerously fast pace, trying to stay quiet. Bolting down the main hallway, I carefully open doors, looking for a ground-floor window that might be open. When I walk into a room that’s outfitted with a wet bar and a large open area in the middle, my gaze locks on the unfastened window on the far wall. It’s barely ajar, but hopefully the fact that it’s not closed and locked means opening it farther won’t trip any alarm.

It slides open easily as I lift it, and my entire body itches with tension as I wait for an alarm to blare or for one of the men to storm in and snatch me up.

But nothing happens.

Almost faint with relief, I slide through the opening before dropping onto the soft earth outside.

There’s still no sound of an alarm, but the silence feels ominous. For all I know, I’ve tripped some internal alert by breaching the window, and the men are pounding down the stairs even now. I need to run as fast as I fucking can. Even if they don’t have a backup security team or don’t see the alerts for a few hours, I’d be a fool to linger.