Chapter 44
ROWAN
There’s a throbbing behind my eyes that’s pulsing in time with my heartbeat. When I blink into consciousness, a metallic taste fills my mouth making me gag. My limbs are cold, numb, and I’m in a room, bound but the bindings are loose.
That was the fucker’s first mistake. He still thinks I’m the girl he took.
And I’m alone.
That was his second.
It’s not easy to curl my legs up and bring my bound hands under them and to my front, but with a great deal of swearing, I manage it.
If I make it out of this alive, I’m dragging Sorcha to Pilates classes.
A woman of my age should not be this stiff.
Or this close to dying because a man decided I was a piece in a game of chess.
And I won’t ever let someone get the upper hand on me again. I swear to God, I’ll take every self-defense class known to man to make sure I never end up discarded in a frigid house with a psychopath and his even more psychotic mother.
Erin would stay. But Rowan? Rowan is going to fight to the fucking death. Even if it turns me into someone I don’t recognize.
There’s a rusty nail sticking out of a dilapidated dresser to my left, so I move toward it.
I’ve seen enough films to know that a bit of friction can get anyone out of anything.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat.
There’s no hope. It’s David and Goliath, and despite hearing Brian somewhere in the house on the phone, I know for sure I won’t be left alone indefinitely.
It’s me and my stubbornness against the clock. Every second I’m in here is a second closer to him coming back through that door.
I start sawing at the binding around my wrists, my arms heavy.
My eyes blur with tears as they spill down my cheeks, and my hands shake with the cold.
And fear. If they come back in here and find me trying to escape, they’ll make it even harder to try next time, or worse, impossible. This is all I’ve got. My one chance.
I hiss when the skin of my wrist tears. Warm blood slicks over my hands, making everything harder and messier.
I wince at the thought of dirt or rust particles getting into my body.
That’s a future Rowan’s problem. The bleeding, the potential infection, I’ll deal with all of that once I get the fuck out of here.
I give up on trying to break the binding; it’s not for moving, and the energy under my skin just screams to run. So, I do. I have to go through the kitchen on my way to the back door, and as though fate played a hand in it, there’s a knife block on the counter.
Thank you very much.
I take the biggest knife, brace it between my knees, and use it to free my hands with a couple of long drags across the blade. Yes. The knife still has life in it.
As soon as I’m free, I reach into the robe pocket for my phone. God fucking dammit. Brian must’ve taken it when I was unconscious. I don’t have time to look for it. I need to get out of here, fast.
Gripping the hilt of the knife, I take off, closing the back door behind me and bolting out into the night. Cold air rips at my lungs as I flee, but I don’t look back. My bare feet slip in the field, mud oozing between my toes with each step away from my captors.
A crack of a branch makes me freeze in place, my heart thundering, blood surging through my veins. He’s coming for me. I try to breathe quietly, moving into the tall grass to hide from whatever horror might come my way.
My heart stutters. He knows where I’ll go because he taught me how to hide.
I tuck the knife behind me. I don’t want him or his ma to know I have it right off the bat. The element of surprise will be what wins this war with these two. They’ve been oddly prepared and ready from the get-go, and I want them thinking I’ve just escaped with bound hands and ran.
He comes at me from the front, his firm hand grabbing me by the throat. He snickers in my face. “Nice try, Rowan. But you’re not going anywhere.”
The edges of my vision blur, and my hand twitches, threatening to drop the knife, but instead, I thrust it at his torso.
I don’t aim. I try not to think about how I’m hurting another human being, only that he’s trying to hurt me.
It’s me or him. I have no idea what’s on the left side of his body, but I spear the knife at him enough that he lets me go, stumbling backward and clutching his side.
I make a run for it. His hand shoots out, fingers curling around my ankle and yanking. I go down hard, the air punching out of my lungs as my shoulder slams into the ground. The knife almost flies from my grip.
“Not… that… easy.” He grits out the words, his voice thick with pain.
He stumbles a few steps before collapsing, but he doesn’t stay down. He rolls, grabbing for me again, his blood slicking his hand as it closes around my wrist. I gasp as he drags me toward him, mud soaking into my knees, the knife trapped awkwardly between us.
His weight crashes into me, not full force, but enough to remind me exactly who he is. A gard who has trained for this, who works out as though everyone is the enemy. He’s stronger than me, bigger and far more dangerous. But I want it more.
For a horrific few beats, I think I might have killed him, but then he blinks, a cruel smirk on his face.
“Liver’s on the other side. And I’m pretty sure you missed my spleen.
” He tilts his head. “Nothin’ but a flesh wound.
” He fucking laughs, like this is a trivial game of Twister on a Sunday afternoon.
He moves to stand, but I press the edge of the blade against his throat with one hand and jam my knee into the stab wound. He cries out.
“Phone,” I snap, pressing the blade even harder. A trickle of blood trails down his neck.
And Brian? He just smiles.
The fucker. He thinks I’m weak. He thinks I’m Erin, meek and scared of her own shadow. I’m not her. I never was.
Rage surges to the surface. I cut him this time, not enough to kill him but enough to show him I’m serious. “Don’t try me, Brian. I’ll slit your throat and leave you to bleed out.” My slick-with-blood fingers slip into his coat pocket, and I grab his phone.
He wriggles beneath me, trying to twist. I cut a little deeper and jam my knee harder into his side. Blood spills from the neck wound. The temptation to end it claws at me, but Liam still needs answers, and so do I.
“I said don’t fucking try me.” I dial Liam’s number. Thank fuck I know it from memory. “If it comes down to you or me, I’m the one walking out of this field.”
“There she is,” he rasps. “The good girl finally learned how to bite.”
“Who’s this?” Liam snaps.
My thighs tremble from where I’m straddling Brian, and my arm aches from holding the heavy knife in place. I’m saving myself, even if Liam’s giving me an assist.
“Liam, it’s me. I need your help.” I want to cry down the phone, let the adrenaline of the day wear off and collapse on the ground in a heap.
But Brian’s too fucking slimy to let my guard down even for a second.
I tighten my grip on the knife. “I’ve got him, he’s not going anywhere.
” I don’t care if there are blood bubbles forming around the blade, I’d rather keep him under control with a neck wound than be the one to die.
For the first time in five years, I’m the one doing the holding, instead of being held.
Liam’s voice is a balm to the terror supercharging my bloodstream. “Tell me where you are.”