“Fuck yes,” I congratulated myself, turning to jelly and taking a moment to rest before the next step. My arms were still bound behind me but at least now I could shift my weight over far enough to—
Gravity took over exactly as I wanted, and I braced myself just a fraction of a second before hitting the damp concrete floor. My anticipation of how much it was going to hurt was understated. Every stab and slice Johnson had inflicted on me, along with my wounds from the car crash, allscreamedwith pain and for a moment my whole world went black as I slipped into unconsciousness.
Thankfully, my body was in too much pain to leave me knocked out for long, and I blinked my way back into consciousness while panting through the agony.
Thank fuck for small mercies, I’d landed in the direction I’d been aiming. Just a few feet away from a pair of garden shears that had been kicked under a work table. Johnson had them out while trimming his fucking black roses earlier. Taunting me. Well, the joke was going to be on him. I would use his fucked up sheers to free myself.
Hopefully.
A few feet sounded so damn close, but when tied to a chair, bruised and bleeding ... it may as well have been on another planet. But I’d come this far, and I’d be damned if Johnson came back to find mehalfwaythrough an escape attempt. That’d just be damn stupid, so there was nothing else for it. I had to reach those shears, free myself, and get the hell out before he returned.
Easy, right?
Right. Keep telling yourself that, Riley.
Gritting my teeth, I started wriggling my way in the direction of the equipment. Through a mixture of frantic thrashing, and digging the bare toes of my bottom leg into the concrete, I was making progress. For the first time since realizing Johnson intended to kill me, I grabbed hold of hope. I could do this. Icoulddo this!
It took a while, and I needed to stop to rest every couple of inches, but eventually my head brushed the leg of the work bench and my heart soared. Fuck. Yes. Who said you needed special Delta training to be a total badass?
Another extended session of wriggling, grunting, panting and straining, and I had the handle of the shears between my teeth. Backing out from under the workbench took a little more effort, given I couldn’t drop the death grip my teeth held on the shears.
After a minute of struggling, I gave myself a rest and lay there panting. My whole body was screaming with pain, and the room spun with dangerous speeds before my eyes, but it was just a reminder that I needed to push through.
My whole body was screaming with pain, and the room spun with dangerous speeds before my eyes, but it was just a reminder that I needed to push through.
“Come on, Riley,” I muttered to myself, hoping the pep talk would help focus my energy. “Come on, you can do this. You’re not the weak, defenseless heiress he’s mistaken you for. You can save yourself.”
Whether I really believed that, it didn’t matter. It was either try ... or die.
Groaning with the effort, I picked the shears back up in my teeth. I was still on my side, my hands bound between my back and the chair, and my legs tied to each chair leg. But I just needed my hands free. Once I managed that, the rest should be cake.
My neck muscles howled as I lifted the shears from the ground with my teeth, turning my face to the ceiling then over my shoulder. I sucked a couple of rasping breaths, then sort ofthrewthe shears with my mouth, aiming to drop them into the gap where my hands were bound.
There was athunkas they hit the wooden chair back, then ... nothing. I waggled my fingers and only just brushed the side of the fucking things, which seemed to have gotten hooked between the slats of the chairback.
“For the love offuck,” I groaned, peering at the sheers hooked in the most infuriating locationjustout of reach of my fingers. For lack of any better ideas, I gave my body a quick shake, rattling the chair against the floor.
To my amazement, they dislodged from the chairback and dropped neatly into my hand. I was so stunned, I almost burst into tears but bit it back. There would be plenty of time to cry—or laugh—after Johnson was dead.
It took me multiple tries, and several agonizing cuts to my fingers, but I finally managed to snip the cable ties holding my wrists together. The second they were free, I wanted to scream and howl my satisfaction, but a noise held my tongue.
I froze.
There it was again! Someone was coming, heavy boots crunching on gravel, and I was willing to put money on it being Johnson.
Frantic, I cut my legs free and staggered to my feet, searching for a weapon in the darkness. The shears were great, and I wasn’t losing them, but I wanted something big to smash over his head. I had one chance to debilitate him.
Moments later, I positioned myself beside the locked door, clutching a shovel to my chest, and leaning into the wall for support. The second that psychotic asshole walked through the door, I was getting the hell out.
Keys jingled outside, and I held my breath.
The distinctivesnickof a padlock opening reached my ears, then the clank of the bolt and the creak of the door. For a second, he paused in the doorway, his long shadow cast by the moon at his back stretching across the floor. Then he stepped into the room, and I struck.
My shovel hit home, smacking him in the side of the head with all the force I could muster up. While weak from my injuries and the mission to cut myself free, I still held enough strength that he dropped to the ground, and in that moment, I grabbed my shears and fuckingran...
...Straight into the arms of a second person.
Arms like steel wrapped around me, knocking the heavy garden utensil to the ground, and I screamed. Fuck hiding my fear, I had nothing left. Maybe if I was loud enough, a neighbor would hear. Either way, I wasn’t going down without a fight.
