If they didn’t look closely at the bolt heads, they would miss the keypad hidden behind the loose electrical box.

“Where is Isabella?” I asked, looking down at the pool of blood near the exit door.

“The old woman fled like a rat,” Camille said, stepping closer.

Her perfume smelled of expensive roses and chemical cleaner.

“She left you behind to clean up her mess.”

“She wouldn’t leave,” I said.

“She did,” Camille replied. “And now you are going to help me bring Adrian home.”

She nodded to the guard on her right.

Before I could move, a heavy hand grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back.

A sharp, hot pain shot up to my shoulder.

I gasped, my forehead pressing against the rough, cold concrete of the wall.

Plastic zip-ties bit into my wrists, pulling them tight until my fingers began to go numb.

“Check the rest of this sector,” Camille ordered her men. “We leave in two minutes.”

The guard who bound my wrists pushed me forward, toward the emergency exit.

I stumbled, my boots slipping on the wet floor where the blood had pooled.