Minho plowed through the door and outside, drawing in the first breath of fresh air after a few painfully long hours that felt like an eternity, sprinting like a mad person down the sidewalk. But to his shock, no one came after him. No one chased him. He was free–and he ran.
He had gone a few blocks away when exhaustion began to kick in, and he lunged at a tree, clinging to its rough back like a buoy in the ocean. He had run for a distance that sure felt far enough from the basement. The only problem was he had no idea where he was.
It was a neighborhood―that much was clear. What he didn't know was whether to trust the people there. After all, he'd been through, the last thing he wanted to do was trust another stranger who could as easily be yet another one of the knuckleheads obsessed with kidnapping him. He wasn't going to change that.
