Chapter 7
brIELLE
“Fuck you! Come back, you asshole!” I shout, pulling on the rope to get my hands free. His deep chuckle vibrates over my skin as he ascends the stairs, leaving me down here with so many fucking questions. The main one being why the hell I was kidnapped from work!
I have to get out of here.
One look at him and his annoying friend, and I know they’re the type of men who won’t hesitate to kill me.
If I can just get one arm loose, I’ll be free.
Then there’s the problem of getting out of here, but that’s a later problem.
I move my wrists despite the sting from the rope, and I can feel it start to give.
My skin is burning by the time I give up.
An idea pops in my head. It might be dumb, but it’s the only thing I can think of.
I rock my body back and forth with enough force that the wood groans before finally cracking.
A few more jerks and the ground rushes up to meet me.
The side of my body smacks onto the concrete floor as pain blooms in my shoulder.
I grit my teeth, but the fall does exactly what I needed—the back of the chair splinters apart, giving me more freedom to move.
My arms are no longer tied to the chair, but my wrists are still bound.
I push myself up from the floor, carefully finding my balance, and manage to bring my hands from behind my back to the front by stepping over my tied wrists. If I can manage to find something sharp, I can try to cut through the rope with it.
My pocketknife.
I reach down and check my pocket, but of course, they took it. And damn it, that was my favorite one.
I scan the room and it’s pretty bare—an empty table, a few chairs, some tools and an old shovel, and a cracked mirror hanging crooked on the wall.
Creeping toward the mirror, I try to pull off a sharp piece of glass, but it isn’t broken enough, so I do the only thing I can think of—I slam my tied fists into it. The glass splinters more, pieces raining down onto the floor.
I grab a piece and carefully angle it against the rope, sawing back and forth until the rope begins to tear.
With each saw of the glass, my chest fills with determination.
It takes what feels like forever, but the rope slowly comes undone.
My palms sting from the cuts left behind, but I can’t stop.
Blood covers the glass and drips onto the floor as the last string of rope rips.
I keep the glass gripped in my hand in case I need to use it against dumb and dumber.
Inching toward the stairs, I hold still, listening for any noise. When no sound comes, I step forward, but as I hit the bottom step, whistling drifts from behind the door. The lock clicks and the door creaks open.
I move out of sight and wait, holding my breath as if he’s going to hear me.
My heart pounds, making this even worse.
There’s only one way out of here, and I need this fucker out of my way.
I peek around the corner, seeing the man I’m assuming is the one who had a mask on back at the bar.
Not the blond one. He’s nowhere in sight.
The second he notices the broken chair on the ground, he looks around, confusion washing over his face.
“What the fuc—” I don’t waste any more time as I drop the glass and grab the shovel next to me, bringing it down on his head.
Karma’s a bitch.
He drops to the ground with a groan, but I don’t wait around for what might happen next. I swoop down and grab the piece of glass, making a run for the stairs.
“Emris!” he tries to yell, but it’s not that loud. Definitely not loud enough for anyone but me to hear.
I run up the stairs, not caring about what might be waiting for me on the other side—at least until I clear the basement door and arms wrap around my waist from behind.
“No!” I shout, struggling with everything I have to break free from his hold. Doing the only thing I can think of, I bring my head back as hard as I can. He’s bent low enough that the back of my skull connects with his nose, but he still doesn’t let go.
I glance down, desperate for a way out, and that’s when I see the blood dripping from my hand. I’d forgotten I was gripping the glass from the basement.
Fuck, if the cut on my hand wasn’t deep before, it definitely will be now.
Tightening my hold on the glass, I drive it down into his thigh. He grunts in pain and the grip around me disappears. When I look over my shoulder, shock is written all over his face as his gaze flicks from me to where I stabbed him.
“If you think a minor wound from that tiny piece of glass is enough to stop me”—he takes a single step forward—“then you are sadly mistaken.” A smile spreads across his face as the initial shock wears off.
He wipes the blood from his nose but doesn’t move from his spot.
I turn and bolt to the front door. I don’t hear anything behind me as I pull it open and rush outside.
The sun is beginning to rise, pale light filtering through the trees surrounding the edge of the property.
I look around, noticing there’s nothing but a tall black fence closing off the land.
A few cars are parked near a garage, and beyond that, a long dirt road stretches away from the house.
I’m in the middle of nowhere.
Not another person in sight.
Looking over my shoulder, I see him leaning against the pillar, arms crossed, watching to see what I’ll do next.
Is this an inconvenient time to notice how attractive he is?
Yep. Most definitely.
I don’t wait around to see what he’s planning. Instead, I take off down the long dirt road, hoping—stupidly—that he’ll let me go.