Hollis stepped out of the Maybach. He rubbed the center of his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribs in a frantic, erratic rhythm that did not belong to him-a massive surge of adrenaline and physical exertion bleeding through the link.
He knew instantly.
He ran into the house, ignoring Mr. Finch. He took the stairs three at a time and kicked Carole's door open.
The room was empty. The bathroom was empty.
"Lock down the estate!" Hollis roared, his voice shaking the glass windows.
Outside, Carole grabbed the rough bark of the oak tree. She pulled herself up. The rough wood sliced into the palms of her hands.
Inside the house, Hollis stopped moving. He looked down at his palms. A sharp, stinging pain flared across his skin.
He turned and looked out the window toward the garden wall.
Carole climbed onto a thick branch and jumped toward the top of the stone wall. Her hands grabbed the edge, but her boots slipped. She scrambled over, falling hard on the other side.
Her knee slammed into the gravel. The skin tore open.
Hollis dropped to one knee in the bedroom. He grabbed his leg, his teeth grinding together. He felt the blood running down her leg.
He stood up, his eyes dark. He did not run to the wall. He pulled out his phone.
"Sterling. Get the car. She is on the highway."
Carole limped toward the road. The sun was setting. The highway was mostly empty. She ran along the shoulder, waving her bleeding hands at the few cars passing by.
A rusty pickup truck slowed down and pulled over.
"Need a ride, sweetheart?" the old man driving asked.
"Please," Carole gasped. "Pennington Estate. Long Island."
She climbed in. The truck accelerated.
Carole looked out the back window. Two headlights appeared in the distance, closing in fast. It was the Maybach.
"Can you go faster?" Carole begged. "My abusive ex is following me."
The old man looked in the mirror and slammed his foot on the gas. The rusty truck lurched forward, hitting a massive pothole in the asphalt.
Carole was thrown upward, and her injured knee slammed brutally against the hard metal dashboard. A blinding flash of agony ripped through her leg, causing her to cry out in pain.
At that exact second, the Maybach hit the brakes. It swerved violently and pulled over to the side of the road, screeching to a halt. Carole stared in shock. Why did he stop? She couldn't see Hollis gripping his own thigh in the passenger seat, completely incapacitated by the sudden, paralyzing spike of pain she had just caused him, gasping for air as Sterling fought to control the vehicle.
The truck turned a corner, and the Maybach disappeared.
An hour later, the truck pulled up to the massive iron gates of the Pennington Estate. Carole thanked the driver and stepped out.
She pressed the intercom button. The gates buzzed open.
She walked up the long driveway, her clothes torn and covered in dirt. She opened the front door.
The living room was bright. Her father, Barnaby, her mother, Eleanora, and Adalberto sat on the expensive leather sofas.
They looked at her like she was a piece of trash that had blown in from the street.
"Look what the dog dragged in," Adalberto sneered, holding his casted wrist.
"Go wash yourself," Eleanora said, disgusted. "You are ruining the rug."
Carole bit her cheek. She looked at Barnaby. "I will marry Douglas Cherry. Just leave my adoptive parents alone."
Barnaby smiled coldly. "Good girl."
