I inhale small breaths of putrid air. I’m not in the clear. There’s a chance one of them is still outside. My fears become reality when I hear another one of the dumpsters being opened, the cover hitting the wall. A rummaging sound follows.

Shit, I scream inside my head, but I comfort myself with the hope that the smell in my dumpster will put the person off. Next, the dumpster closest to mine, the one Damien kicked, is also opened, searched through, and closed again. Adrian swears under his breath as he opens the lid of my dumpster a fraction of an inch.

Despite most of my body being covered by trash bags, if he looks closely he’ll see me, especially since I’m trembling with fear. Luckily he retches and lets the lid fall back into place. I send up a silent prayer of thanks.

He steps away from the dumpster and I hear him open the kitchen door. At least, I think it’s him. To be on the safe side, I stay put. Good thing my nose has somewhat adjusted.

Perhaps I’m alone again, but if I climb out of the dumpster and over the wall now, there’s no guarantee Damien won’t be waiting on the other side. As I allow the time to pass, I think about what I’m sitting in, and my stomach turns. My mouth fills with saliva, and before I can do anything to stop it, I turn my head to the side and throw up. The bitter and sour taste makes my eyes water, but I blink away the tears.

Disgusting smells have nothing on Damien Steel. I’ll remain hidden as long as it takes me to feel safe enough to climb out.

Several times, a kitchen staff member enters the yard and dumps more garbage into my dumpster. I don’t make a sound as new piles of food bury my body. Half an hour later, I hear multiple voices, then movement around my dumpster. Something scrapes the ground, and I know it’s the chair being moved. They must have come out for a smoke. They don’t say much, but I feel their presence and hear their sighs of exhaustion.

Finally, the people leave the yard. As the kitchen door opens, I don’t hear any loud sounds spilling out like before. Perhaps the dinner rush is over. Damien could even have left the restaurant by now. I imagine the presence of the big boss would naturally keep people on their toes.

I wonder whether Damien and Adrian are combing the entire hotel for me now. After working so hard to keep me imprisoned, there’s no way he’ll give up easily. He’s fueled by obsession. Despite being far from safe, I allow a tiny smile to creep across my face.

I wait for at least another hour. Inertia starts to set in. My eyes grow heavy and my body aches with every small movement. I have to do something soon. Although I feel safer in the dumpster than out there in the open, I can’t remain in here the entire night. Whoever comes to empty the dumpsters will surely discover me.

Damien could have instructed the hotel staff to keep their eyes open and alert him if they see me. The safest option would be to distance myself from Hotel Sierra, from Damien’s property. Despite the desire to get moving, I decide to wait a little longer, maybe another hour, to give the kitchen staff ample time to finish up with dinner and for Damien to leave.

I fall asleep without planning to and am jerked awake by something warm and sticky being poured into my dumpster. The person leaves the lid open and returns to the kitchen. I point my nose up at the starry sky and inhale deeply of the fresh air. After a few more minutes, I push my cramped legs out and rise.

I gather as much garbage as I can underneath my feet, creating a small mountain that will enable me to reach the rim. Without the chair waiting for me on the other side, I might have to throw myself out of the dumpster, but a little fall won’t do me much harm.

I pause. There are no more sounds coming from the kitchen.

Pulling myself over the rim, I’m surprised to find the chair I thought had been moved still in the place where I left it. Luck is on my side tonight; I won’t blow it. I make it to the ground and take a quick glance through the kitchen window. There are only two people in there now. The one with the chef’s hat is wiping down the counter, back turned away from the window. The other one is standing in front of an open fridge, jotting something on a clipboard.

Wasting no time, I hurry back to the wall. My clothes, skin, and hair are all damp, sticky, and smelly. With the help of the chair, I scramble on top of a closed dumpster, praying it won’t tip over. Once or twice, I slip in the slime covering my feet, but I catch myself in time.

I stretch my upper body over the wall and look down at the other side. My eyes scan the empty street. Several cars are parked on the curb, none of them expensive. They can’t belong to Damien. But of course, I might be mistaken; he could be hiding inside any of them.

What other choice do I have? I have to get moving before I get caught.

I make it onto the top of the wall without catching the attention of the remaining staff. My fall to the ground is hard, and I hit the pavement with my shoulder and hip at a painful angle. I’m glad I was careful to keep my head raised—a concussion is the last thing I need right now.

Ignoring the pain in my joints, I pull myself up to my feet. Grabbing my shoulder, I limp away as fast as I can. Soon the pain becomes a part of me, and I start to run, glancing behind me several times.

I come across a homeless man slumped next to a closed café. He gives me a suspicious look. I must look a sight with my dirty clothes and disheveled hair. Little does he know I’m just as homeless as he is.

I consider giving him my rings as a gift, since I no longer have a use for them and never wanted them in the first place. But it would be foolish. If I want to get out of this town, this country, I’ll need money. And these rings are valuable.

I move on, running faster. Several cars drive by, but I’m too terrified to hail one and ask for help. Damien could be anywhere.

I turn a corner onto another street, which leads me down a dark, narrow alley. The fear of someone attacking me freezes my blood, but being held prisoner by Damien for the rest of my life wins out. Who knows what he’ll do if he gets me back? He threatened to kill me once already.

I stay away from busy streets and from nighttime passersby. I stick to the shadows—alleys, and sidewalks with broken or dying street lamps. Some of the people I come across try to talk to me, at times begging for money. Others barely acknowledge me. Some even recoil. I’m a skunk, keeping enemies away with my stench.

After a while, I spot a beaten-up pickup truck with peeling paint parked at a gas station. The man I suspect to be the owner is inside the gas station store, flipping open his wallet.

I hesitate a moment before hunching over and hurrying toward the truck. Pushing my fear to the back of my mind, I climb into the open back and cover myself with a faded gray blanket that smells of stinky feet. Though, the smell could just as well be coming from me.

I wedge myself into a corner of the truck bed and curl myself up as tightly as possible, the way I did in the dumpster. I need this man to drive me somewhere far away. Damien will expect me to be on foot.

I count the seconds, waiting for the driver to return. At last, I hear heavy boots hitting the ground. Something hard is thrown into the back, hitting me on the ankle, the one with the bracelet. I grit my teeth to stave off the pain and prevent myself from crying out. A few loud heartbeats later, the driver’s door slams shut.

The engine sputters before roaring to life. Then the truck rumbles under me, jerks, and starts moving. I laugh silently as tears of relief leak from the corners of my eyes.