Page 256 of Promise Not to Fall for the Rich & Famous

Nash leaned down and blew sawdust off the stick. He turned it slightly, studied it in the low light for a beat, and began sawing it once more with the small pocketknife. "Why, so I could, like, strangle somebody?" He sounded intrigued, if nothing else.

Ellie hesitated, worrying the idea was ridiculous. Who was she kidding—it was absolutely absurd. But what if it worked? "I was thinking you could use it more like a lasso. I mean, youarereally good at that."

Nash stop sawing. He glanced up at her. "Wow," he said, sounding impressed. "That's actually kind of a boss idea. I say we try it."

The tight, frantic energy pulsing through her intensified. Soon, someone would open the door, and she and Nash had to be ready.

Her mind summoned a scene of how it might all go down. Nash stepping in to defend her, the captors putting a bullet through his chest, Ellie, paralyzed with devastation and fear.

No, that’s not how it will go.

She pushed that scene from her thoughts, willing her mind to come up with something new. The trouble was, it was probably the most likely outcome. They’d take Nash out, wrestle Ellie into some boat or plane, and she’d never see him again. His family may never see him again. Would they just dump his body in some lake—his whereabouts going unknown for years to come?

Ellie’s breaths went jagged. Her head went light. She could picture it: Nash—a man so strong and full of life—motionless and still. Never to wake again, at least not on this side of the clouds.

No,she told herself.Stop. Those thoughts wouldn’t help her.

Envision what you want to happen, Ellie. You can do that.

She nodded as something occurred to her. If these guys wanted Nash dead, they’d have already killed him. And they definitely wanted to keep Ellie alive; they wouldn’t make any money if she was dead. Their captors had probably been given strict instruction to deliver them—to wherever they were going—unharmed.

Please, Lord, help us get out of this. Help me to be strong.

In the moments that followed, a sense of hope sprouted in Ellie's chest. Small at first, but soon, it started to grow. She and Nash had a few things up their sleeves, after all. And if they stayed focused, it might just be enough to help them escape.

All they needed was to avoid the next vehicle, whatever it was. A boat, a plane, a van. Did they plan to bind their hands this time? Blindfold them? Whatever their plans were, Ellie felt confident that she and Nash could throw a wrench into them and break free.

Whether their captors expected her and Nash to be out cold once they stopped or just plain powerless beneath their intimidation, they’d be in for a surprise.

Sure, it was possible that—in the end—she and Nash would go down, but one thing was certain: they would not go down without a fight.

The unmistakable sound of a helicopter echoed overhead, adding yet another element to the chaos.

Nash, who’d put his trusty pocketknife to good use yet again, had indeed cut the cord off the vacuum. “Are you hearing that?" he asked as he fashioned a lasso out of the cord.

Ellie nodded. "I hear it. Do you think that's Wyatt and Wade, maybe? Looking for us with some search team from a chopper?" Her hope multiplied at the mere suggestion.

"Either that," Nash said, "or we're about to get transferred."

The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, rocking Ellie off balance enough that she had to brace herself.

A surge of fresh fear shot through her when the vehicle remained still. Suddenly, a car door opened, then closed.

“Here,” Nash said as he lifted the jug of chemicals out of the garbage bin. “It’s game time.” He carefully handed it to Ellie.

As soon as he removed the suitcoat he’d placed over the top, Ellie’s eyes and throat began to burn. She held it as far away from her face as possible with an outstretched arm.

The helicopter grew louder, its hectic thrum mimicking the frantic beats in Ellie’s chest. She took fast breaths, pumping herself up. Her adrenaline had never been so high. She’d use it to make herself stronger.

Nash instructed her to stand along the edge in the front corner. “The door will open from the bottom up; the whole thing will lift like a garage door. Once the driver lifts it open, I’ll lasso him, and you splash that in his face. If there’s a second guy, aim it at him instead.”

Ellie nodded, wishing her arm was longer so she could stop breathing in the fumes. Hopefully, they’d hurry and open the door soon; if not, she and Nash might suffocate from the chemicals alone.

Nash secured his grip on the makeshift lasso, his expression tight and fierce. Ellie felt her heart threaten to sink. She hoped it wasn't a foolish notion, hoped that it would actually work. And as she studied the jagged tip of the broomstick, she hoped she’d be brave enough to use it if she had to.

The helicopter grew louder until the walls of the metal trailer began to shiver and quake, an indication that the chopper had landed. Voices sounded, at least two, maybe three, first from the side of the truck and then toward the back.

"You got this, Ellie,” Nash said in a low, even voice. “We’re going to take these guys out and make a run for it."