Page 8 of Promises in the Dark

“That girl has no idea what the governor plans on doing with her.”

I freeze at the sound of one of the guards’ voices, my foot suspended midair.

No. No. No.

I stare at the door, defeat swirling through my chest.

Taunting me.

“What do you mean?”

They’re in the next room over, the wall beside me the only thing separating us.

“Tonight was for him to show off his little wifey to the leader of the Vasilievs and sell her off. He’s handing her over once they return.”

“Sell her? Is that even legal?”

“Is half of what he does legal?” The man chuckles darkly.

“How long until they return?”

“Probably not for another couple of hours.”

“Should we join the others in the pool house for poker?”

“You’re on.”

I remain frozen on the staircase as I listen to the guards’ voices drift farther away. Heavy footsteps echo through the house before gradually fading toward the back of the property. The second I hear the door close behind them, I rush down the remaining steps, scurrying toward the front door.

But just as my hand wraps around the doorknob, I freeze.

There’s a camera on the other side.

I rest my forehead against the wood, racking my brain.

There has to be another way.

I know there has to be—

The wine cellar.

Without hesitation, I spin around and hurry toward the opposite side of the house. The keypad comes into view, and with trembling fingers, I enter the code. The door slides open, and I slip inside, immediately descending the stairs.

Cool air wraps around me, carrying the familiar musky scent. I take a left, then I see it: the metal access door leading to the side of the property.

I press both of my palms against the cold, rusted metal and pray it’s not locked from the outside.

“Please open,” I plead. At first, it doesn’t budge. “No, please don’t do this.” A tear slides down my face as I step back. I take a deep breath and press my palms against the door again, pushing hard. It opens just enough for me to squeeze through and stumble my way outside.

The cold night air once again hits me as raindrops bounce off my face. I lift my hood, securing it around my head, and scan the area. The pool house is to my right, so I head to my left toward the woods that stretch out for miles. On the other side, there are a few stores and restaurants, and, most importantly, the Miami Express.

“You’re almost free,” I whisper, tightening my hold around the straps of my bag. “Don’t give up now. Not when you’re this close.”

I run to the edge of the woods and step through the brush, using the darkness to conceal me. The moon hangs high above, illuminating a path for me to take. A few times I trip on tree roots, catching myself in the dirt. But each time I get up more determined than before. Eventually, neon lights come into focus through the trees. And the moment I step onto the wet cement, breaking through the tree line, I nearly sob from relief at what I see.

Stores. People. A bus station.

My eyes catch on a bus parked in a lot alongside a building, and I don’t stop to think. I just run toward it. The automatic doors slide open, and I hurry inside, keeping my head down as I make my way to the ticket counter. My fingers tug my hood farther forward, casting my face in shadow.