She grabs my hand and squeezes. “If I can just get to a phone outside of this place, I can end all of them. I can. I just need a phone and the closest bank. I can’t get out alone, though. Are you coming with me, Adina?”
I can’t go through another night like this. The humiliation. The complete loss of control. They made me compliant. I will not be again.
I squeeze her hand. It’s not even a question anymore. There’s no other answer.
“Let’s get out of this shithole.”
CHAPTER 29
WE MOVE UNDER THE COVER of night. We’ve both abandoned everything, deciding that it can all be replaced. Dressing in our Raid fatigues makes it easier to slip from shadow to shadow. We don’t speak, either. Both of us know the plan. It’s the same as it’s always been—stick together and survive.
Once, we have to press flat against the wall to avoid a maid slipping through the dark.
When we’re on the move again, I don’t take the time to catalog the spaces that I aim to leave behind. They’ll be burned on my retinas anyway, the dark wood and the oil paintings and the gleaming gold of the candelabras.
We treat this like it’s the Ride. Each security guard stationed is another obstacle to be avoided, and we slip from shadow to shadow, twisting around a sharp corner or ducking behind a door. Then it’s like the Raid, searching for a way, hunting hallways that are unoccupied, moving through this maze of a house until we find one that leads out the back door and lets us slip into the gardens, by the stables. Out in the fresh air, we breathe a little easier. The security guards are stationed near the front tonight, by the gate and the garage, escorting the last lingering guests of the third Repartee off the grounds. I look at Saint from the corner of my eye. Her mouth is curved into a half-moon, giddiness tugging at the corner of her lips.
“We’re out. We’re getting out,” she says, holding her hand out to me.
I take it and squeeze, letting out a tiny sigh. “Yeah, we’re getting out.”
We slip quickly into the stables. We’ve agreed to go through the two arenas and run the way back down the path of the Ride, hopefully breaking out into someone else’s land, or at least losing security until the morning.
I want to suggest taking the horses for speed, but I know that they’ll be loud and make us an easier target to see.
“We’ll go—” I start.
“Go where?”
Both of us turn toward the entrance as one.
Esme leans against the doorway of the stable, arms folded over her chest. She hasn’t bothered to change out of her silk pajamas, like she wanted to look as expensive as possible when she confronted us. Her left hand has been lovingly wrapped with gauze, medical tape painstakingly placed.
“Mind your business,” Saint says coldly.
Esme has the audacity to look amused, fighting a smirk.
“You should go back to your room, before security finds you,” I say carefully.
Esme nods slowly, eyes disdainfully wide. “You’re right. We can all walk back together,” Esme agrees. “Isn’t that where you were going? Back to your room?”
Neither Saint nor I say anything as Esme taps her chin. Easing back, I grab Saint’s arm, tugging her along with me as Esme stalks forward, eyes wide with curiosity.
“Because if you weren’t, I’d have to say that it’ll only be minutes before security decides to check the stables. They already know you’re missing,” Esme says dryly.
“And… and how would they know that?” I ask.
Esme smiles. “I’m not stupid. I saw your faces at the Repartee. You’re done, aren’t you?”
Looking at Esme, I wonder how she’s not.
“I mean, isn’t that what you want? Just… just let us leave,” I insist. I take another step back, tripping over a beam of wood laying haphazardly in the hay. “If we leave, you’ll win even more easily. It’ll just be you against Penthesilea, and Hawthorne will help you—”
“No,” Esme barks. And then she stops, like she’s confused about what she’s saying. She looks up at us, trembling, darkness tearing across her face. “If I can’t leave… you can’t either. If I’m gonna die here, I’m not gonna be the only one. Not after all I’ve sacrificed.”
Her voice is deep and guttural. Esme has never acknowledged her own mortality in all the years that I’ve known her. She’s caustic and cocky and cruel. She’s still all those things, but now she’s scared, too. She’s human.
“This isn’t worth it,” I whisper gently. “If you don’t wanna die, come with—”
“NO!”
There’s a beat of silence, louder than all the rest, and then Esme turns, ready to run, to scream where we are. But Saint launches herself at Esme, tackling her to the ground. She tries to secure her there with a knee between her shoulder blades, but Esme flips and headbutts Saint in the nose. Saint falls back, gasping, blood spurting from her nostrils and splashing across the front of Esme’s nightshirt.
Esme rolls over and crawls forward, fighting her way to her feet. “I have fought and fought all this time. I have humiliated myself again and again. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going to see this through until the end.” The wound on her hand has started to bleed again, pinpricks of red spreading across stark white gauze. “And so are you.”
Saint turns and spits blood on the ground, glaring at Esme’s back. “You’re not doing this for your family, Esme Alderidge. You just don’t know who you are without diamonds around your neck. And you’re too scared to find out.”
“I’ll kill you,” Esme promises. She takes a step back, and I can believe it. I can see it happening, can see her wrapping her long fingers around Saint’s neck and choking the life out of her. Saint would fight it, but in the end, Esme would win because she stinks of desperation.
“Don’t do this, Esme…，” I warn. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
And it’s true. This may look like that day with Toni, like a fun-house mirror, the two of us facing each other, both poised for violence, but this time the consequences would be deadly.
Esme looks at me for a brief moment, like she remembers too. And like she remembers before that. The years we were friends. That we used to go to her country house, that we went roller-skating together, that we used to eat lunch together. That we used to just be, a group of friends, a group of girls.
She remembers and… decides that it’s not enough.
Esme launches herself at Saint, her acrylic nails curled over, and I move before I can even think, swinging the beam of wood with all my might at her back, intending to knock her over.
There’s a hard crack, and for a moment Esme almost floats in the air, frozen. A trickle of blood slips from her scalp down the back of her neck, staining the clasp of her necklace rose gold. And then she falls into a heap and doesn’t move. I can’t even scream. The sound freezes in my chest.
Saint barely reacts. She is already grabbing me, tugging me back from Esme. Esme, who is not moving.
“We have to go. Come on, Adina. Come on,” Saint insists, her voice wispy in my ear.