36. Julian
JULIAN
I had no idea how long I’d been there, but I’d decided what felt like hours ago that it would have been a hell of a lot better if they’d left me tied up.
At least I would have been able to focus on trying—probably unsuccessfully—to break out of my bonds.
As it stood, I was free but not free. There was space for me to walk around, but there was absolutely nothing I could use to get out.
I was already hungry and thirsty—I wished to hell I’d eaten my lunch instead of spending my break fooling around with Lance—and I knew that was going to get so much worse.
What would I try when I got more desperate? Would a surge of adrenaline allow me to dig out a cinder block or rip the door off its hinges? I wanted to believe that would happen, but the small efforts I’d made so far told me how impossible that was.
I needed a miracle.
I needed Lance.
I needed him to find me, but I didn’t know where I was, so I had no idea whether there was any chance of that or not. Was this a game where there was no chance of winning for me or for Lance? Or was Valentino Carlotti the kind of man who really wanted to see what his opponent was made of?
I heard footsteps, or I thought I did. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe I was hallucinating. Wait. Voices. Someone was out there.
I banged on the door. “Help! I need help! I’m trapped!”
When my voice gave out, I listened again but heard nothing. Maybe I’d imagined someone there, but the voices had sounded so real. I hadn’t been able to make out any of the words, but the low rumble had to have been someone talking.
I called out again as loud as I could even though my throat was raw, but there was no response. No movement. No voices. I didn’t regret trying. The man who’d kidnapped me was wrong. I’d much rather die with a sore throat than die without making an effort to save myself.