Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(51)

I didn’t mean to find out.

I ran.

Pushing past the man and woman, I charged into the kitchen and thanked God for the exit. The door rocketed open as I slammed it with a shoulder.

The back street was salvation, and I sprinted with every bit of strength. My sore ankle yelped as I flew over uneven cobblestones, darting down another alley. I zigged and zagged, trying to get completely lost, hoping Franco would lose all sense of direction.

A grunt and shout obliterated the hope; I ran harder. I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t. Q would punish me, and I didn’t know how much more my mind could take. I might never get another chance to escape.

Changing course, I charged for the main street, exploding from the alley into on-coming traffic. People scattered as I careened out of control, panting hard, eyes wild.

Car horns blared as I slammed to a halt in the middle of the road. My gaze darted, trying to find someone, something, to save me. I daren’t look behind to see if Franco was close—my entire body felt hunted. Any moment, a bullet would tear through my brain, putting me down like the rabid runaway I was.

Battling useless thoughts, I put all focus into finding a saviour.

A car screeched to a halt, missing me by millimetres. My heart catapulted into my throat as the bumper whispered against my knees. Shit, am I so willing to sacrifice death for survival?

“Putain de merde!” What the hell? The youngish man with browny-red hair opened the car door, waving an angry hand. “I could’ve killed you!”

I latched onto his eyes, entreating instincts to say if he could be trusted. Could he save me? I ran to the driver’s side, and gripped the door with white fingers. “Please. Take me to the police. I’ve been kidnapped.”

I looked behind me, expecting to see Franco within grabbing distance. I was an exposed target, standing in the middle of a blocked road.

The guy looked me up and down, nostrils flaring as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. Brown eyes glazed with confusion, and I suffered a pang of fear. He wouldn’t help.

I backed up, bunching muscles to run again.

Just as I was about to take off, he shouted, “Wait! I take. I take.” He ran around the front of the car and opened the passenger door.

Hesitation filled me, looking into the small sedan. Was this a case of jumping out of the pan and into the fire?

Who else do you have to save you?

“Esclave!”

Heart spurted with terror; I threw myself into the car. “Get in. Get in!” I couldn’t breathe as Franco fought his way through lingering pedestrians, eyes locked on me.

The guy jumped into action and ran to the driver’s seat. He slammed the car into gear, and we peeled forward with a roar of the engine. Franco slammed the car roof as we zoomed away, bypassing other cars, and jumping the curb.

I peered at the guy—my rescuer. His mouth thinned to a white line, navigating the road at hyper speed. I wanted to hug him, crush him in thankfulness.

Twisting in the seat, I stared out the back window. Franco jumped up and down in the street, yanking his black hair. He yelled something and threw his hands up, before sprinting back to where he parked.

Breathing hard, I swivelled to face the front, trying to calm down. I’d done it. I was free.

We didn’t say a word as we drove from the postcard perfect township onto pretty country roads.

Silence lurked like a third passenger. I stared out the window, tension knotting my stomach. I wanted to dance in happiness, but I wasn’t free yet. I needed to stay collected, stay wary. I frowned. After three weeks of torture, could it really be that easy? Uneasiness pricked, and I bit my lip. Surely, it couldn’t be that simple?

The GPS! In my rush, I’d forgotten about Q’s freakin’ tracker. Shit! I brought my leg up, resting a heel on the seat. Fingers fumbled with my jeans, pushing them up to access the anklet. I tugged hard, trying to wedge fingers beneath the twist-tie, but it only tightened, cutting off blood supply to my foot.

I huffed with rage. How the hell would I get rid of it?

The guy looked over, eyebrow cocked. “What are you doing?” He navigated a turn, before glancing again. “What is that?”

We made eye contact. His face seemed kind enough, not handsome, but not ugly. Mid-thirties with early wrinkles around brown eyes. Deciding he seemed trustworthy, I said, “I need a knife, or some scissors. Do you have anything like that?” I fiddled with the anklet. If I could raise my leg to my mouth, I could gnaw it off. The image made me want to laugh —I escaped, only to have chew my own leg off like a starving rat.

I expected him to say no. I mean, this entire thing seemed too perfect. Who could say their knight in shining armour almost ran them over, then whisked them away in a crappy Volvo?

My mind shot to Franco. Had he called Q? Arranged a search party for me? Q wouldn’t let me go easily. He’d hunt, but I didn’t intend for him to catch me.

Urgency pumped blood faster; I wished the driver would step on it. I wanted Formula One driving, not sedate Grandma.

The guy shifted, his foot pressing on the accelerator as he fumbled in a pocket. He frowned, wiggling his ass, reaching for something.

I watched with an incredulous expression, trying to figure out what he was doing. After a few awkward moments, he smiled, pulling his hand free.

With a flourish, he passed me a miniature Swiss army knife.

My eyes popped wide, and I accepted it with shaky hands. “Thanks.” My voice whispered with awe. From now on, I would carry a Swiss army knife—never know when one would come in handy. Bet he didn’t wake up this morning expecting a runaway to use it to cut a tracker off her body.