“Think about what I said, yeah?” Voodoo added as he too sauntered off, leaving Steel alone with the tablet and the meal he was cooking for the little ladybug.
“I didn't think I'd feel any regret for using you,” he whispered to the woman flipping so effortlessly on the screen he held a little too tightly. “You were just a tool, a means to an end. I thought we’d use you, then ship you off home once we killed your brother. I never let myself think about the consequences of using you, how it might break you, how you’d recover, if you even would. But I underestimated you, didn't I, little ladybug? Because you're not breakable.”
There was no doubt that Rose was a kindred soul, and he knew that the person responsible for leaving both of them with scars that ran deep enough that neither would ever be considered normal was the same man.
“When I kill him, I’ll get in some strikes for you, little ladybug,” he assured her. Some of Ridge’s screams before he took his last breath should be for Rose, it seemed only right considering she was likely the man’s first victim. Ridge might not have played with his sister’s DNA, but whatever he’d done to her had forged a strength that didn't flinch in the face of torture.
Just as he was about to set the tablet down and check on the meal he was preparing for his little ladybug, he watched as Rose suddenly flung herself off the ground, using the door handle as a steppingstone as she flew across the air.
For a second she seemed to hang there, and he was already preparing himself to assess how badly she’d injured herself when she came down on the hard concrete floor.
Only she didn't come down.
Her fingers connected with the flimsy covering for the vent.
Swinging her body side to side, when she did hit the ground, it was with the vent cover in hand, and with a graceful landing.
Already moving for the basement stairs, Steel watched as Rose didn't hesitate to perform the same maneuver, this time toward the open vent that was just large enough for her to fit inside.
But when she managed to scramble up inside it, he watched in horror as the ceiling began to sway and dip, not designed to hold a person’s weight, not even someone as small as Rose.
As she fell, this time along with the ceiling, Steel knew he could never make it to her in time to save her.
December 27th
12:26 P.M.
After tumbling around the room for what she had to guess was close to fifteen minutes, maybe even twenty, it was hard to keep count when she was flipping and spinning backward and forward across the floor, Rose decided anyone watching her was bored now.
Lulled into a false sense of security.
Maybe they thought she had lost her mind, maybe they thought she was trying to do her best to cling to it, it didn't matter.
All that mattered was that they not be prepared for her to make her move.
Dying in this place at the hands of these men wasn't on her bingo card, and if she was going to die, it was going to be at her own hand. Rose was prepared to throw herself off a roof, or slit her own wrists, whatever it took. The only thing she wasn't prepared to do was remain as Mr. Bedroom Man and his friends’ plaything.
If they wanted to play, they needed to find a new toy.
Praying this worked, with her next flip, Rose aimed at the door. The handle was small, but thankfully so were her feet, and she only needed to use it as a springboard, nothing more.
Pushing herself higher than she felt she needed to go, she tried to make her aim as accurate as she could and was rewarded a moment later with the feeling of the cool metal under her bare feet.
Using the door handle to launch herself, Rose threw everything she had into the flip and was grateful the room was as small as it was, otherwise, she doubted she’d stand a chance at getting to the vent.
For a moment, it felt like she was flying.
Ever since she could remember, she’d been obsessed with flying. All her childhood dreams had centered around having wings so she could soar across the great expanse of sky and find her way to freedom. It didn’t matter what the flying thing was, a plane, a bird, a butterfly, a bee … a ladybug … if it had wings of some kind, it captured her attention.
No wings grew from her back, but still it felt as though she was flying as she crossed the room, her arms stretched out, fingers ready to grab hold of the cover blocking the vent.
When they connected, she hissed in a pained breath. Now not only was her backside aching, protesting all the flipping, but she was sure she’d just ripped at least a couple of nails.
Oh well, at least nails grew back, and skin healed, but if she stayed there, her life would be over.
Swinging her body from side to side, creating her own momentum, she was rewarded with a small creak before she fell.
Ha! Take that, Mr. Bedroom Man.
