Chapter 23
23
Ginny
I lie on the cold concrete, cheek pressed against it so long I can’t feel it anymore. Numbness has taken over, creeping into my limbs, spreading up my side, a dull ache setting into my bones. The floor beneath me smells like dust and stale air, like it hasn’t been cleaned in years. I keep my breathing shallow, even, forcing myself to stay calm despite the fear that’s starting to claw at my chest.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, my wrists bound in zip ties, my body still and quiet. Every time I shift, even a little, the plastic digs into the skin of my wrists, rubbing it raw. I don’t even want to think about the angry red welts that are probably already forming under the plastic. I try to ignore it, try to ignore everything. The ache in my cheek where they slapped me, the cramping in my stomach, the dull throbbing in my head. I focus on the silence around me, the stillness, listening for any sound, any hint of what might be going on outside this room.
There’s a guard standing over me and Rocco, his shadow looming as he paces back and forth, agitated, impatient. Every few minutes, he stops, looking toward the door, muttering under his breath. He’s distracted. Something’s happening out there, something big, something he wants to be part of. He doesn’t want to be babysitting the hostages; he wants to be out where the action is.
My gut tells me that Mateo must be here, or at least they’re waiting for him to arrive. I’d heard the man who hit me tell Mateo he’d better be here by six. I have no concept of what time it could be, but I have to imagine that it’s getting close to six.
Rocco sits slumped in a chair a few feet away, head drooping, his body motionless. There’s dried blood caked on his temple, smeared across his cheek, and my chest tightens every time I look at him. He’s so quiet, so I don’t know if he’s unconscious or just sleeping. I don’t let myself think beyond that.
The guard yawns, stretching his arms above his head, his eyelids drooping. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, keeping my face down, my body as still as possible. He’s not paying attention to me, not really. His focus is on whatever’s happening outside, his gaze drifting to the door every few seconds, the boredom and frustration clear on his face.
That means he’s an opening we can exploit. I start to move my hands, just a tiny shift, testing the zip ties around my wrists. They’re tight, biting into my skin, but I have small hands.
I wiggle my hands, twisting my wrists just enough to widen the zip tie without making it obvious to the guard. The pain is sharp, but I grit my teeth and keep going, focusing on the slow, subtle movements, on the feeling of the plastic giving way little by little as I try to maneuver my hand out of it.
Finally, I feel my wrist slip free. My heart races, adrenaline flooding through me as I carefully pull my other hand free, keeping them low behind my back, out of sight. The guard hasn’t noticed. He’s still looking at the door, oblivious, yawning like this is just another boring shift for him.
I keep my face neutral, breathing steady, as I reach behind me and pull at the zip tie loop, widening it as much as it’ll go. My hands are free, but I don’t want to make it obvious. I slip my wrists back into the loop, just enough to look like I’m still bound, and keep my arms close to my body, waiting.
A sudden, sharp pain shoots through my stomach, and I can’t help the low groan that escapes me. It feels like something twisting inside me, an ache that’s too deep to ignore. I don’t know if it’s the stress, the tension, or the potential baby that’s theoretically growing inside me, but it’s enough to make me gasp quietly, my body curling in on itself instinctively.
The guard glances over, his expression flat. I let my arms fall in close, hiding the looseness of the zip tie, and look up at him, my face contorted in pain.
“Shut up,” he snaps, glaring down at me.
“I can’t help it,” I groan, letting my voice sound shaky, weak. “My stomach really hurts.”
He lets out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Nice try.”
The pain hits me again, and for a split second, I freeze, my mind going blank. I try to breathe through it, keeping my face down, but my eyes flicker over to Rocco, watching for any sign of movement.
And then I see it, a tiny, subtle shift. His head turns up ever so slightly. His eyes open just a fraction, but just enough for me to catch the gleam of awareness, the sharpness of his gaze as he looks at me. It’s brief, just a second, but it’s enough. He’s not unconscious. He’s been faking it.
My heart skips a beat, hope surging through me. He’s aware, watching, waiting. He knows exactly what’s happening, and he’s just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.
I glance back at the guard, keeping my expression blank, trying to mask the excitement bubbling up inside me. We have a chance. It’s small, but it’s there. If I can just keep him distracted long enough, maybe we can make a move.
The pain in my stomach flares again, but I push it down, focusing on the plan forming in my mind.
“Hey,” I say, my voice soft, weak. “Please, I don’t feel good. Can you just help me sit up?”
The guard glares at me, clearly annoyed, but he doesn’t say anything. I can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he’s weighing whether or not it’s worth the trouble. I keep my expression pained, pathetic, hoping he’ll buy it, that he’ll think I’m too weak to be a threat.
Finally, he lets out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he waves a dismissive hand. “Fine,” he huffs, coming closer to me. “I’ll help you sit up if it’ll shut you up. Just don’t try anything stupid.”
I nod, keeping my movements slow, careful, as he approaches me, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me to a sitting position. My back is pressed against the wall, so he doesn’t notice that my hands aren’t actually bound. They’re hidden behind me, out of his sight. The moment he turns his back on me, I spring to my feet, pouncing on him.