“Did you say…” my voice disappears beneath the drumbeat of my own blood pounding in my ears, “…theGallagherestate?”
Don’t barf. Don’t barf. Please, please don’t barf.
The woman nods, adjusting the IV feed to the left of my bed. “That’s right.”
The world tilts, and the blood whooshing in my ears grows so loud, I feel as if I’m drowning.
My mouth moves, but nothing emerges.
Her concise confirmation changes everything.
Everything.
She mumbles something about coming back with food, but I barely hear her. I’m too busy panicking.
The Gallagher estate.
As in…ShaneGallagher. The leader of the Irish Kings.
They’rethe ones responsible for me now?
I realize I’m starting to hyperventilate and work to slow my inhalations.
This scenario is worse than anything I could have cooked up in my most wretched, ugly, gruesome nightmares. I’ve been abducted by the most vile, vicious, powerful Irish mafia in New York.
Words don’t exist to describe situations this bleak.
Panic doesn’t begin to cover it.
The Irish Kings have a long history with my family. They’ve been enemies of the De Lucas since before I was born. I don’t know any of the specifics. Us worthless daughters don’t exactly get a seat at the war room table.
Not that I’ve ever wanted one.
All I know is that the Kings are an Irish mob full of brutal, violent thugs. If I’ve been captured bythem, this skylight hospital room might as well be an open grave.
There’s no way I’m leaving this place in one piece.
High above, I watch an airplane glide across the blue sky. I would give anything to be on a plane right now, headed anywhere but here.
I choke on a hysterical laugh. Here I thought nothing could be worse than getting sold on the auction block. Ha, guess the joke’s on me. Somehow, I managed to land myself in an even more dangerous situation.
Good thing I never traveled to Vegas to gamble. With my rotten luck, I’d probably wind up imprisoned in a casino, working as an indentured servant. Cleaning individual poker chips by hand.
Blinking hard, my eyes catch on a detail I didn’t notice before. Around the casement of the skylight window…is that a handle?
My pulse accelerates. It is. The skylight can be opened.
If someone could haul their butt up there, theoretically they could open the window and climb out onto the roof.
The someone in this scenario being me, of course.
I’m moving before I even understand what’s happening.
When I was a child, my mother used the gardens around the De Luca estate to practice her landscape painting. And while she did that, I climbed trees.
I’d sit on thick branches and let the breeze ruffle my hair.
I’m sure I’ve retained at least some of that tree-climbing agility. Sitting up with intention, I fold my legs beneath me and examine my trajectory.
