Finally, on the same wall, was another door that was locked—it led down to the basement. Hiking my duffle up onto my shoulder, I repositioned Fiona as I punched in the door code for the basement. I carried her down the stairs and through the last stretch of hallway that would take us into the paint shop. Quickly keying in the code, I unceremoniously dropped her into the chair Ginger was in earlier, placing my duffle down next to her.
Fiona was going in and out of consciousness at that point, her head lolling as she groaned quietly. She tried to push away from me, but didn’t have enough strength to create any distance. She tilted to the side, almost falling out of the chair as I was crouched next to her. I pushed her back upright then headed toward Scythe’s toolbox.
Slapping the wall next to it, I waited impatiently as the hidden panel slid open, revealing a locked door. Quickly letting myself in, I took in the space around me. Meticulously organized shelves contained a variety of equipment. The walls were lined with tools, weapons, and binds. Grabbing some rope, I headed back toward Fiona, who was once again on the precipice of consciousness, sliding off the chair.
I grabbed her hands and pulled them, but was stymied by the ridiculous jacket and its long sleeves, as well as the wig. Yanking those off, I was able to maneuver Fiona easier and quickly tied her hands together with the rope behind her back. As I tightened the last knot, she rolled forward, but this time, was stopped short by her arms locked around the chair.
Her red hair hung over her face like a fluorescent beacon, and a moment of panic ran through me.I never meant to hurt her. I only wanted to hurt Reaper.Dismissing those thoughts, I used my knife to slice the excess rope from her wrists, and made quick work of binding her legs from her knees to just above the oversized boots her feet were stuffed into. Her eyes were opening and closing, but she looked through me, unseeing. I made sure she could breath and was stable in the chair before picking up my duffle and heading for the weapons room.
Grabbing anything that looked useful, I packed the duffle close to bursting with weapons and ammo. Walking back to the paint shop, I stopped near Fiona’s prone body. A moment of doubt washed through me, but I shook it off and grabbed thewig and jacket from earlier. I quickly made my way back upstairs before throwing the duffle into the back seat of my car.
Placing the wig and jacket over the top of the bag, I was satisfied that, if the prospect at the guard booth looked inside, he would assume I had a girl passed out back there. Starting the car, I exited the garage and took a look over the clubhouse I had spent my life at. I said a silent goodbye. Foot on the gas, I headed for the gates, my mouth dry at the sight of Danny. It turned out that my worry was unnecessary.
Recognizing my car, he hit the button that had the gate opening. I knew I couldn’t use the car for long—all club vehicles had trackers on them. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to get a junker with stolen plates that I kept parked near the outskirts of town. I knew that area had little to no surveillance coverage. Extra plates were in the car in case Keys could manage to track me anyway.
Once I got to a secluded spot, I’d stop and change the plates. From there, I would have to move around for a while until I was sure no one was on my tail. When it felt like the coast was clear, I’d access my account in Switzerland, and get started on relocating to my new, permanent home. With that money, I could disappear.
As the wheels of my vehicle officially exited Reaper’s Guard territory, the last tether to my Brotherhood snapped. The moment had finally arrived. It was real, and it was happening. I thought back to everything Reaper had done over the years that cut me down. All the reasons I had to do it. The ball was already in motion. I had no choice but to take action. It was time to focus on myself. I was going to make it out of this with my money and start a new life.
Fiona
I woke up to a throbbing in my head and an ache throughout my body. I felt distorted and sluggish. I tried to wiggle my legs, but could barely move them. I looked down at my feet, and was confused at the unfamiliar boots on them.
As consciousness seeped in, I remembered Crow confronting me before choking me out. Looking around, I realized I was down in the paint shop. I had walked through the room to get to the infirmary where Bash was treated after the incident with Dolly. I was sitting in a chair in the center of the barren room, my arms bound by rope behind the back of the chair.
Upon further inspection, I noticed I had a weird mix of clothing on. The physical act of moving my limbs sent pins and needles through my arms. At the slightest movement, a painful tingling started as blood attempted to flow throughout my bound limbs. I was jerking in the chair, fighting the ropes on my wrists and my legs to no avail.
Collapsing in on myself, I was dizzy and thirsty, my breathing heavy. There were no windows or clocks in the room, so I had no idea how long I had been down there. The overhead lights blinding against the all-white room were disorienting and painful, but at least it wasn’t dark. I started pulling at my binds, trying to get some relief from the stiffness. I was freezing and exhausted, but knew it wasn’t a position I could stay in.
Closing my eyes, I tried to remember every class, every video, every self-defense lesson I had ever looked at. I knew getting my hands in front of me was the first step. I started twisting my wrists, pulling at the rope, trying to gauge how tightly I was bound. It could have been minutes or hours. No longer cold, sweat was pouring down my overheated body.
My back and arms ached from the strange positions I was putting them in. There was wetness around my wrists, eitherfrom blood or sweat. I wasn’t in a position to complain, since it felt like they were finally loosening up. Turning my head, I was able to see behind me, and noticed there was some give in the rope, providing a bit of a gap between my bound wrists.
I tried to turn back in my seat, but lost my balance and fell to the side, chair and all. My head hit the cold floor hard, and I couldn’t help the yell that came out of me. Spots filled my vision, and there was a ringing in my ears. Gingerly, I turned my head slowly and whimpered, then quickly closed my eyes as nausea washed over me. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the position I had found myself in.
On my side, tied up like a prized hog with my head throbbing, I tried to figure out my next move. I knew I needed to somehow get out of the chair. Luckily, my legs weren’t connected to it. Eyeing the ridiculous boots, an idea came to me as I took in the chunky heels. Twisting on the ground, I tried to aim the heels of my boots for the chair leg, hoping to wedge it between the thick rubber soles. It was hard. On my side, I couldn’t get a clear view of where my feet were going.
Finally, the heel connected, and held still until I managed to capture the chair leg between both shoes. Now that I had managed to gain some purchase on the chair, I kicked down, and felt the slightest shift as the seat slid down to the back of my thighs. Encouraged by the movement, I arched my back away from the seat as I gripped the chair leg between my feet and straightened my legs, dragging the chair further down freeing my hands with each inch I gained.
One of my heels slipped, but I had managed to make some progress at that point. Using whatever focus I had left, I reached back with my feet until I once again managed to grip a chair leg between my feet. Using what little ab strength I had, I pushed my upper body away from the seat, and kicked down with all my might.
A loud scraping rang out as the metal chair dragged across the floor, but soon, my back hit the cold tile. I managed to pull myself up into a sitting position, hands behind my back, legs in front of me, the chair discarded by my feet. I was panting, and my heart rate was as high as if I had ran a marathon, but all I had managed to do was get rid of the chair. It was clear my wrists were bleeding. The rope felt like splinters everywhere it made contact with my skin.
Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward, making an attempt to untwine the rope any further. I was working blind, but my only indications of progress were the cramps in my fingers and the change in blood flow going down to my hands. I took a break once I got the rope loosened enough that I no longer had to actively wiggle my fingers to encourage blood flow up and down my arms and hands.
Lying back down and rolling onto my side, I pulled my legs up toward my chest until I was in the fetal position, my arms stretching to their limit as I attempted to slowly move them underneath my butt and then around my legs. I had to take several breaks and multiple tries before I managed to fit my legs through the circle my bound arms created, nearly pulling them out of the sockets until I finally managed to get them in front of me. The feeling of success was short-lived when I caught sight of my damaged wrists.
Sprawled on the cold floor, I curled back up and gave in to the urge to cry. I was exhausted and terrified. I had no idea where Bash was, what Crow had planned, and what the fuck I could do from there. I knew from my previous visit to the paint shop that you could only get in and out using a coded keypad. Meaning I had to wait until someone came down there to find me.
I didn’t know how long that would take, but I knew I couldn’t just sit there, waiting. Sucking back tears, I flopped around until I was sitting upright, my back against a wall. I eyed the wideempty space in front of me, looking for anything that might help me while I was down there. I eyed the drains with distaste, but knew that mother nature would come calling sooner or later, and I at least had a space to pee that was more than just a bucket.
I knew the drains were there for easy cleanup, which meant that water had to be nearby. I imagined them hosing down blood and guts, and used that as motivation to imagine what damage I could do to Crow once he was down there in my place. At the thought of water, though, I realized how thirsty I was. Eyeing the rope wrapped around my legs, I sighed before bending over to try and get it off. I pulled and yanked, peeling at the knot, trying to untie it. It felt like my nails were bending back as I tried to get a good grasp on the knot, loosening the rope as much as I could.
On a low growl, I dropped my hands as they throbbed and stung. Mirroring my earlier movements, I started moving my legs, doing the best I could to generate space and gain some slack in the rope. I wasn’t sure if I was making much headway until the rope shifted almost painfully around my knees. Holding the knot closest to that area, I grabbed on while there was enough space between the rope and my legs for me to maneuver. I was finally starting to make some progress.
My wrists and hands were covered in blood at that point, making them both sticky and slippery, further hindering my grip on the knotted rope. After what felt like hours, my fingers splintered and stinging, one knot finally loosened up. Finally having some leverage, I untied the knot keeping my legs bound, instantly gaining some space to work. In slow, concentrated movements, I began unwrapping the rope, blood flow returning with painful veracity.
After managing that, I had to take another break. I couldn’t believe how exhausted I was. I guessed being deprived of blood and air to the brain would do that to a girl. Able to somewhat function at that point, I got up and began inspecting the room.Using the wall as support, I slowly crept across the room leaning heavily on the wall as dizziness threw off my balance. Pausing, I squinted my eyes at the copper faucet I saw in the corner of the room. Relief hit me, and I knew I at least could get some water in me.
