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Chapter 373
Chapter 373:
He yanked Daphne hard. She lost her grip and fell to the floor.
Skye pulled the fire alarm on the wall.
The bell rang out—deafening and shrill. Strobes began to flash.
“Fire!” Skye shouted. “Get out p>
The guard hesitated, distracted by the noise.
“Run!” she yelled at Daphne.
Daphne scrambled up and ran out the door.
The guard glared at Skye. “You made a mistake p>
He lunged for her.
Skye didn’t think. She reacted. She sidestepped his grab and kicked his knee—hard. He grunted and buckled.
She ran.
Skye burst into the hallway. The hotel was in chaos. Guests were streaming toward the exits.
She blended into the crowd. She made it to the lobby. Julian was waiting near the door, looking frantic.
“Skye!” He grabbed her. “What happened p>
“I pulled the alarm,” she gasped. “Graves… he tried to take a girl p>
“We have to go,” Julian said. “Now p>
They pushed through the crowd to the waiting car. Alistair was behind the wheel.
Skye jumped in. “Drive p>
As they sped away, she looked back at the hotel. A figure stood in the penthouse window, looking down.
It was Graves.
He wasn’t evacuating.
He was watching.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
You saved the mouse. But the cat is still hungry. See you on TV, Skye.
She shivered.
𝘙еа𝘥 w𝗶𝘁𝘩о𝘂𝘵 𝗂n𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗋𝗎p𝗍𝘪𝗈𝘯𝘴 oո b𝘦.𝗰o𝗺
“Did you get anything?” Alistair asked, watching her in the rearview mirror.
“I got his attention,” Skye said. “And I saved a girl p>
“Daphne,” Julian said, checking his tablet. “Daphne Collins. Just a kid from Ohio p>
“Is she safe?” Skye asked.
“Hunter picked her up in the alley,” Julian confirmed. “She’s in a safe house. She’s talking. She knows about the shipments p>
“Shipments p>
“Graves isn’t just trafficking money,” Julian said grimly. “He’s trafficking people. Daphne was part of a ‘batch p>
Skye felt sick. “We have to stop him p>
“We need proof,” Alistair said. “Hard proof. The show starts tomorrow. You’ll be in the house with Liam. Graves will be watching. You need to get him to admit it on tape p>
“How p>
“Provoke him,” Alistair said. “Make him think he’s winning. Make him brag p>
Skye looked out at the city lights. “I can do that,” she whispered.
The next morning, the world was watching.
A limousine pulled up to the “Ex-Files” mansion, a sprawling modernist estate in the hills rented for the production. Skye stepped out in a sharp, tailored white suit. The armor of a businesswoman, not a victim.
