Jailbait Read Online Free PDF

and head toward the door. My leather heels can’t get me away fast enough, and I slip out of the gallery and hurry to a narrow hall. Being on the design team for this place, I know my way around. Sort of. Maybe.  
    Or maybe not.  
    My chest rises, pressing against the tight dress. Each step echoes off the empty hall, and the lights dim the further I go. The whole warehouse was in bad shape when it was acquired. Since the frame of this place was solid, only the space that was to be utilized was renovated, saving money to be put into supplies for the children.  
    I didn’t realize how much was left untouched, and now I’m walking down a dark hall using my phone for light. I come to a staircase that doesn’t look safe to walk on, especially in five-inch stilettos, and turn around. Cobwebs brush against my neck and I whirl around, batting them away. My ankle twists and I throw my arms out to catch myself, dropping my phone. It clatters down the stairs and lands face up on the floor below. Specs of dust sparkle in the air, illuminated by the stream of light coming from my cell.
    “Son of a bitch,” I curse and regain my composure. I slowly move to the edge of the staircase and give the railing a good shake. Determining it’s strong enough, I carefully pick my way down. Each board beneath me creaks and groans, making me think I’m going to go plummeting down at any second.
    When the third to last step actually cracks under my weight, I jump off, slipping and falling backwards onto my ass. I grab my phone and scramble up, suddenly feeling like I’m caught in a horror movie and someone is going to reach through the slats in the stairs, drag me to their home in the basement, and eat the flesh off my body while I’m still alive.  
    Brushing myself off, I shine the light around and try to figure out where I am and how I can get back to the safety of the charity gala. The easiest way is to go back how I came, but those stairs…yeah, probably not a good idea. Even if I took off my shoes, the formfitting gown makes even a level, clutter-free hallway a task to navigate.  
    I’m sure there’s another staircase. One that isn’t broken. I know for a fact that part of the first floor was thoroughly redone. All I have to do is find it. Though after just a few minutes of wandering around, I’m starting to panic. The glow of an “exit” sign looms ahead.  
    “Thank God.” I move toward it, holding my dress up so the hem doesn’t catch on the dusty cement floor. I can get outside and go around to the front. I’ll have to come up with some sort of excuse to why I’m walking in again, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I’m still not convinced I’m alone down here, and I really want out before I become some lunatic surgeon’s new plaything.  
    I really need to stop watching horror movies.
    The metal handle of the exit door is cool against my skin. I check to make sure it won’t set off an emergency alarm, and then have to use all my weight to push it open. I emerge into an alley, and the door slams shut behind me. Dim streetlights spill into the alley, and a large green dumpster casts shadows in my path. I move away from the building and look up and down the alley, trying to figure out which way to go.  
    Over the sound of traffic, I hear music. Right. There’s a balcony in the back of the warehouse. I can see it now in my mind, well-lit and safe, holding people dressed in ridiculously expensive clothes sipping ridiculously expensive drinks. If I can get to the balcony, I can get back inside, buy the photo of the nursing mother, and then get the fuck out of here.
    I step around the dumpster and freeze. Two men dressed in boots, torn jeans, and leather jackets stand next to motorcycles. One is on his cellphone, and the other is swinging his arms in front of his body as if he’s warming up before a fight.  
    “Can’t be sure,” the one on the phone says. “Had New York plates but it sorta looks like