What I needed was a weapon.
The bed frame was solidly constructed; I didn’t find any metal pieces that I could break off or unscrew without a screwdriver. I briefly considered the merits of a drawer from the old dresser—but even the smallest one was heavy, and I wasn’t exactly the Incredible Hulk.
Eventually, I dragged one of the drawers into the bathroom and used it to shatter the mirror that had defied my attempts earlier... only for it to break into tiny shards that were too small to be any use as a shiv.
With a frustrated cry, I hurled the drawer at the bathroom wall. It caught the piece of molding at the corner of the shower area, where the wall jutted out. Wood splintered with a sharp crack. I stared listlessly at the damage, willing my brain to stop spinning uselessly inside my skull.
The thin piece of molding had split where the edge of the drawer had snagged it, the top half of the broken piece pulling slightly away from the wall. I frowned, moving closer to look. Small nails stuck out of the separated length, looking tiny and delicate.
I reached out and grasped the molding between two of the nails, bending it up and back until a section broke off in my hand with a snap. The split end tapered to a wicked point, following the wood grain. I touched my thumb to it—splinter-sharp.
It was flimsy, but I wasn’t going to find a better stabbing weapon in here.
I couldn’t get the finishing nails out of the molding, but a few minutes of pressing them hard against the edge of the porcelainsink at least left them bent and flattened against the wood. The pointy end was sharp enough to pierce a hole in one of the pillowcases. I stuck two fingers through the gap and ripped off a wide strip of the luxurious cotton fabric. Wrapping that several times around the blunt end of the wooden spar made a serviceable handle.
Feeling a bit better prepared than I had before, I shoved the plate of food under the bed with the dust bunnies, where I wouldn’t have to look at it. Then I had a ‘duh’ moment, pulled it back out, and tipped the contents under the bed. It was heavy dining wear, not the disposable paper kind. I could throw it at someone and maybe slow them down, at least.
I propped the pillow with the torn case against the bed’s headboard, shoved the makeshift knife and the plate behind it, and settled in to wait, keeping my bleary eyes firmly fixed on the door.
Hours passed. An engine rumbled up to the house. Something big and old, I thought. Not a modern car. It was the van that Gage had mentioned, I was willing to bet. My empty stomach roiled.
Gritting my teeth, I tried not to think about the omega kid with the bruised face being loaded onto it... about Adrian’s eleven-year-old sister being shoved in after him. The urge to jump up and try the attic door nagged at me. It was stupid, though. I’d already struggled with that damned door half a dozen times during the night. It hadn’t magically unlocked itself during the last hour.
The engine idled outside for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before pulling away. The omegas were gone, and with them, my crazy delusion of somehow engineering a heroic rescue.
My jaw clenched tighter.
More time slid by, slow and sticky like molasses.
I could barely make out the smooth purr of the next vehicle to arrive. Omegas didn’t like windows as a rule; we wanted things dark and enclosed. But right now, I could understand what betas saw in them. A window or three would have been super useful, and not just as a potential escape route.
Heavy footsteps approached up the stairs—two people, this time. I tensed, easing the handle of my shiv out from behind the pillow, where it would be hidden from view by my thigh, but I could grab it easily.
I didn’t take the plate out, or get off the bed. I doubted I’d be able to overpower two alphas on my best day, much less when I felt like I was about to pass out from lack of sleep. If they came too close to me, though, someone was getting splinters in the most vulnerable area I could reach.
A knock sounded on the door.
“It’s me,” came Gage’s muffled voice. “I’ve got the gun. Stand where I can see you. You know the drill.”
A second voice grumbled something, too low to make out. I ignored the ‘stand’ part, staying right where I was on the bed. The lock outside clicked. The door swung inward, revealing Gage with the gun pointed at me, and the red-haired alpha—Heath?—standing behind him on the landing.
Gage came in, frowning.
“You didn’t use the nesting stuff,” he said, sounding almost... disappointed?
“Fuck you,” I told him. “How’s your precious pack leader?”
Heath stalked inside, radiating crackling anger. I made a subtle move to wrap my fingers around the shiv handle, hating the way my instincts tried to uncurl as the scent of whiskey and baking bread swirled around the room in a cloud.
“None of your goddamned business,” Heath snapped. He stretched out a hand toward Gage, palm up. “Now, give me that gun. I’m getting some answers.”
My heart thudded into a panicked, uneven rhythm as Gage wordlessly handed over the small pistol. My hand clenched convulsively around my pathetic shiv as he strode forward, stopping out of arm’s reach and pointing it at my heart.
There was no way I could spring up and stab him before he pulled the trigger. I froze in place, unable to move.
“Tell me your name,” Heath said.
My lips worked soundlessly for a couple of seconds before my brain connected.
