Chapter 4

Hope was a dying ember.

My vision was blurring, the steam so thick I could barely see the glass wall in front of me. The heat was searing my lungs. I knew I didn't have much time. Chloe had even less.

A primal scream tore from my throat. It wasn't a word, just pure, desperate rage. I threw my entire body against the glass wall separating the steam room from the neutral corridor.

The glass shuddered but held.

Pain shot up my arm, but I ignored it. I drew back and slammed my elbow into it again. And again.

A spiderweb of cracks appeared.

With a final, agonized roar, I punched it.

The reinforced glass exploded inward. Shards, superheated by the steam, rained down on me, slicing into my arms, my face, my chest. The pain was immense, a thousand burning knives. I didn't care.

I stumbled through the broken wall, my feet crunching on shattered glass. The air in the small corridor between the two rooms was cooler, a shocking relief. I crawled to the cellar door, my blood leaving a thick trail on the stone floor. My hands were shaking too badly to work the lock. I looked at the keypad. I knew the code. Victoria used her sister's birthday for everything.

I punched in the numbers. The lock clicked open.

I pulled the heavy door. Chloe was a small, still heap on the floor. Her face was pale, her lips a dark, bruised blue. The blood from her mouth had frozen in a grotesque smear across her cheek.

"Chloe," I whispered, my voice a raw croak.

I gathered her into my arms. Her body was terrifyingly cold, her clothes stiff with ice. I dragged her out of the cellar, into the small space between the two rooms, away from the extreme temperatures.

I had to get help.

I fumbled in my pocket. My phone. I'd kept it in an inner pocket of my jacket, hoping to shield it from the steam. The screen was cracked, but it flickered to life.

No service. Of course. We were in a reinforced concrete basement.

The landline. There was an old-fashioned jack on the wall for emergencies. I scrambled over, plugging in the emergency phone from its wall-mounted case.

Dead. No dial tone.

Victoria. She must have had it disconnected. She had thought of everything.

My mind raced, grasping for any possibility. A memory surfaced. Years ago, for my birthday, Victoria had given me a "gift." She'd made me the majority shareholder of a small, private security firm she'd acquired. It was a meaningless gesture, a way to make me feel like I had some power, but I never used it. I still had the card in my wallet.

I pulled it out, my bloody fingers smudging the logo. I dialed the number. It rang once.

A voice answered, smooth and smug. "Sterling Security. David speaking. How can I help you?"

My blood ran cold. David.

"David, it's Ethan. You have to send help. Chloe... she's dying."

David chuckled. A low, ugly sound. "Oh, Ethan. You're still calling this number? I'm so sorry, didn't Vicky tell you? She transferred ownership to me a few years back. A little gift. Said you didn't have the head for business."

The line went dead.

He hung up on me. It was all a game. A meticulously planned, cruel game. And we were the pawns.