PART SIX

I was getting nowhere on the treadmill and I'm sure that was the point of the stupid contraption. When I ran, I wanted to be outdoors. As of today, I had enough time exercising inside to fill a cruise ship with sweat. Training indoors was ugly and so was my mood. The walls closed in with every step and just the noise of the machine had my temper spiking.

I upped the speed and incline, sprinting to the sound of "Try Too Hard" by Pink pounding through my ear buds. The music usually put me in the right head space, but it wasn't working today. This was day six of running and practicing insidehiding. They- my security team, hired by my father, had no idea what a good backhand entailed. Bottom line, this wasn't working.

Fuck it. I know I promised my father to stay here where it's safe, but I couldn't handle this anymore. I hadn't been to a nightclub in more than a week. Shaking my ass to a heavy beat, the smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies other than mine would at least let off some steam. I hit the off button without taking time to slow the machine. I ripped the ear buds out, flung them aside, and jumped off the treadmill.

I looked around the large room deciding on a game plan. The security team was no slouch, and this would be tricky. One of them would check on me a few minutes from now. If I opened the doors or windows leading outside an alarm would go off. I did have a way out. It required going up to the attic. I'd been saving it in case a time came that I contemplated suicide by dumbbell. It was time and if I didn't get out of this prison I'd go insane.

There were nothing but a few boxes of holiday decorations stored in the attic. The window in the eave of the house was small, though, best of all, not secure. I thought I could manage it. I wasn't small, though. My thighs were hard and muscular and not exactly today's standard of slim. I couldn't care less. With twelve championships and three Grand Slams in my pocket, my thighs and backhand were the money makers.

I walked out of my temporary gym with confidence in case I ran into anyone. I had the words "bathroom break" on the tip of my tongue if someone decided to follow me. I was lucky; with no encounters, I slipped through the deathly quiet mausoleum I grew up in. The stairs to the attic were located on the second floor in an over-sized hall closet. I quietly opened the door and shut it behind me the same way. Climbing the stairs brought back memories. I played up here as a child. I liked resting in the strip of sun that warmed the wooden floorboards. That's where I spent my childhood dreaming I was a princessone of the few places I could actually settle down. The thought had me laughing. I was as far from a princess as anyone could be. I got where I was in my career through blood, sweat, and determination. The fact I was the "tennis darling" of the world was laughable. I could hold my own on the court but I could also hold it in bed. I was far from an innocent sweetheart, and keeping up the illusion was becoming harder.

This time the laugh that escaped was a little louder and I bit my lip to stop the noise. My father might think of me as an innocent young girl, but I knew the truth. Hell, I lived the truth when I was at my apartment and not this God-forsaken crypt called a house.

I tiptoed farther up the narrow stairs and entered the playground of my youth. Having a U.S. senator for a father meant I didn't play with kids outside our social circle when I was young. The appropriate play date encompassed frilly dresses and dainty shoes that made me want to gag. If I remembered correctly, I did that a time or two to make myself puke. It got me out of playing boring Barbies on more than one occasion. From the age of six, I lived for the court. Some might think it too young to discover the love of tennis, but for me, it was the perfect age. I needed an outlet for whatever it was inside of me that kept me from sitting still. I had too much energy for adults to keep up with and tennis became my world.

I looked around the room I hadn't visited in years. Other than dust, it was as I remembered. No princess dreams for me today; I was getting out of this hellhole. I walked across the wooden floor to the window and struggled to pry open the latch. With a crumbly noise, caused by non-use, it finally gave way. I pushed it back and contemplated the hardest part.

The window was several feet off the ground. It was narrow and wide. The only thing that really worried me was getting my head through, so I arched my neck sideways and stuck my head out the window, only scraping my ear a bit. I looked down and decided my plan was a go. I pulled my head back and considered the best way to tackle the problem of getting my entire body out on the ledge. I hiked my right leg up and out. I wiggled a little and one butt cheek popped outside. My other ass cheek hung up, so I bent double, almost kissing the knee that was still inside, and pushed back. I wiggled some more. Nothing budged.

Fuck, I was stuck. I could see the headline now. "Total fail when America's tennis darling auditions as contortionist for local circus." Were you supposed to suck in air or breathe out all your air in these situations? I actually had to think it through. The windowsill dug into my crotch, and processing the dynamics of my position wasn't as easy as one would think.

I expelled the air from my lungs. Do not pass out, do not pass out, I thought to myself as lack of oxygen made me lightheaded. A lot of force and a few extra wiggles later, I squeezed myself out onto the wide ledge. If the heavens were smiling down, the security cameras didn't have a good angle and hadn't captured my not-so-elegant escape. If they did, the guards would have a good laugh and someone would sell it to the tabloids.

I looked down at three stories of trellis running up the side of the house. I carefully found the footholds that would hopefully hold my weight. There wasn't an ounce of fat on my body, but I didn't lack for muscle. The slats cracked and groaned as I climbed down. Now was not the time to think about how the hell I would get back up. I had a feeling that knocking on the front door and coming clean about my escape might be the safer ticket.

Near the bottom, I had to push away and jump about eight feet to the ground in order to clear the prickly bushes. The leap was nothing. Players no longer net-hopped after matches, but it didn't mean I hadn't practiced when bored. Again, thighs, babymine were powerful.

I took a deep breath to prepare myself for the next obstacle. As soon as I left the side of the house, the security cameras would zero in on me. Hopefully, it would be too late. After a deep inhale, the mad dash was on. I focused on my favorite childhood tree and jumped to the first branch, then the second before scaling the high wall surrounding the property. A tree limb scraped my leg, but that was nothing. With concrete on the street side, I was a bit more careful in my landing. I needed my knees in good shape to stay at the top during this year's season. I stood from my crouch and took off, stretching my legs and taking the corner in a fast sprint until my family prison was behind me.

This is what I neededfreedom, air in my lungs and cement beneath my running shoes. No pansy-ass treadmill I'd gotten as far as I had in my career because I pushed every fiber of my being to do one thing. Win. And winning was everything.

The sound of a vehicle's engine startled me and I peered over my shoulder. It was coming fast and though I didn't recognize it, I knew it had to be the house security team. They could eat my dust. No way would they be able to jump out and catch me. I was just getting started. The white van gained on me and it seemed idiotic, but at the last second, I actually wondered if they would try to make a grab from the vehicle.

The impact gave me no further time to think. I was airborne. Everything went into slow motion. Reflexes from years of training took over and I placed my forearms out to take part of the fall. It did little good. Impact-pain- shock. My head hit the cement and an agonizing pain in my side barely registered. I literally saw starsblack with bursts of light flashing in all directions.

I couldn't breathe, and somewhere in my befuddled mind I realized the wind was knocked out of me. Before I could take a full breath, someone rolled me over and lifted my torso off the ground. I couldn't open my eyes. The backs of my running shoes bumped along the cement. Whoever had me wasn't gentle.

"Fucking cunt, you can't escape me."

The voice caused terror and pushed back some of the pain.

"Hey," another man spoke. "You shouldn't move her, I've called an ambulance."

I felt a moment of relief before my torso met the warm cement again. Two loud explosions burst through my brain. Gunshots? They were followed by... barking? Then more blasts. My stomach rebelled and vomit entered my throat. I rolled and tried to get to my knees. Nothing worked. The flashing lights going off behind my eyelids went dark.

No floating sensation. No pain. No nothing.