Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

She skipped over and grabbed my hand, pulling me along.

I dug my heels in. “What is this? Isn’t this place closed?”

“Not for us,” she sing-songed. “Come on.”

She swung the door back open, forcing me inside.

“What’s going on?” I whined.

“Kai’s orders,” Alex answered. “Shut up and follow me.”

A security guard in a dark gray uniform came over, locking the door behind us. “Have fun, ladies.”

“Thanks, Pip,” Alex chirped.

“Phillipe,” he corrected.

“Whatevs.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “You know him?”

“Nah, we just met. He fell fast, though.”

I rolled my eyes. What was going on? Clearly, the store was closed. Except for us. Why?

My combat boots squeaked across the marble floors, and I glanced up again, momentarily forgetting to resist her as the air in my lungs expelled.

Whoa. At least five floors were stacked on top of us. We stood at the bottom of the atrium, and I turned my head around and back and forth, seeing how the flights above us circled the perimeter of the open space, all the way to the skylight at the top of the building. Every floor could look over the edge and see us down here.

A massive chandelier hung high, and everything sparkled white and gold as the scent of leather and perfumes wafted over me.

We passed display cases of jewelry, perfume counters, and purses, while pictures hung everywhere, displaying beautiful people on yachts and in luxury snow cabins brandishing their ten-thousand dollar watches or suede boots that you could easily pick up here and then you, too, would be magically transported to a yacht in the Mediterranean or a cabin in Aspen or a polo club in Scotland.

I used to dream that my mom and I would go shopping some place like this when I was little.

Someday, when we were rich and all the problems were gone, we’d have pretty things, I’d be popular, and my real life would have started.

It still seemed like part of me was dreaming of that. Always waiting. Biding my time.

“Have you ever been in here before?” Alex asked, leading me into an elevator.

“No.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She pressed the button for the fourth floor and the elevator doors closed, immediately beginning to ascend. “Did you ever see that old movie from the 80s? Mannequin?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, shaking my head.

“Well, this window dresser works nights in a department store like this, and it always looked like so much fun to be him, you know? Having the whole place to yourself to try on clothes, explore, and play with everything.”

The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and she walked out, not waiting for me to follow her.

“Look, it’s after nine.” I trailed behind as she strolled through a maze of racks. “I still have a couple things to take care of tonight. What am I doing here?”

She delicately picked up a piece of silk something—lingerie?—and matching underwear. “Trying on clothes, exploring, and playing with everything,” she replied frankly, inspecting the garments.

She held the top up to me, and I reared back, seeing spaghetti straps, lace, buttons, and a shitload of missing fabric that should’ve been covering the stomach. Jesus. That wasn’t clothes. It was the scraps left over from the clothes.

She pursed her lips, appraising me. “Hmmm…dark brown hair. Olive skin. The slate gray, yes. That’ll do really nicely.”