Holding her breath, she pulled her hands apart as far as the ties would allow and then gingerly rubbed the plastic material up and down on the ultrasharp blade. Slowly, it cut through. Finally, her hands were free. She relaxed, and the knife dropped to the floor.
Throwing the offending plastic across the room, she grasped the knife handle and stood. Phone. She needed a phone.
Scrambling through drawers again, she found more weapons, spices, and a couple of bottles of Scotch. No phone. What kind of a safe house didn’t have a box of disposable phones? She slammed her hand on the counter and pain flowed through her bloody wrist.
She was really starting to dislike the Seven.
Grabbing a kitchen dishcloth, she wrapped it around her left wrist. The right one would just have to bleed. It wasn’t cut as badly, anyway.
Urgency shook her. She had to get out of there before they returned. Rushing back into the bedroom, she pulled socks from a drawer and rushed to the closet. Several pairs of high heels, all in different sizes, were tossed haphazardly around.
A bunch of lingerie and high heels in different sizes. Ivar the Viking was a player. Definitely a player.
She dropped to her knees and shoved shoes out of the way. Come on. There had to be a decent pair in there somewhere. She couldn’t run through the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh in high heels. Not with Logan no doubt on her tail soon.
At the very back of the closet, she hit pay dirt. A pair of tennis shoes, well worn. Thank goodness. She yanked them on. While they were about two sizes too big, they’d work for now.
All she had to do was find a phone.
Her heart thundering, she ran out of the apartment and down the stairs, bursting into the rainy night. It was a punishing rain, hard and brutal.
That island in the sun seemed so far away.
Gulping, she looked frantically around. The apartment building was in a quiet, older part of the city, and the street was silent at this hour. All of the apartments around her appeared dark.
Should she knock on one? What if there were more demons around? The sound of traffic filtered lightly through the night from blocks away. She had to get to a bar or store or something and just borrow a phone. If she could call Niall, he could teleport her home. It was time to talk some sense into her people, and it was time she fully understood the physics of the prison world. Burying her head in figures and strategy wasn’t working for her any longer. She was a Key, and while she understood some of what that meant, she was missing information.
Turning, she loped into a jog through the puddles already collecting on the stones.
Lightning flared, illuminating the entire world. She yelped and jumped closer to the stone building.
“Mercy!” came a bellow from down the street.
Panic grabbed her around the throat and squeezed. Holy hell. Logan was back, and he’d seen her. All by himself. Where were his friends? Her timing totally sucked. No question about it.
She turned and moved as fast as she could around the building toward what looked like a park. Dodging between stone pillars, she ran full bore across a grassy knoll and around several benches, heading for the other side.
The thunder and pelting rain urged her on.
She had to get free. The too-large shoes and wet grass slowed her, but she tucked in her arms and fought the wind as best she could. A lone cab was driving down the road on the other side of the park. She yelled as loud as she could, hurrying, bursting out of the carved exit gate.
His brake lights flashed red in the storm.
Gulping in air, her wet hair flapping against her cheeks, she wrenched open the door and jumped inside. “Go. Go fast. Please go.” She slammed the door shut.
The driver, a gray-haired gentleman with round eighties-style glasses, turned and looked over his shoulder. “Where to, miss?” His brogue was thick.
“Anywhere,” she yelled. “Just go. North or south or wherever. Take me to a pub.”
Muttering about women who couldn’t handle their drink, he turned back to the steering wheel and pressed the gas pedal, driving leisurely down the quaint street.
Mercy turned in the seat to look out the back window.
Logan burst out of the park. Rain plastered his T-shirt to his chest and his jeans to his legs, giving him a predatory look that stole her breath completely away—maybe forever.
Even through the night, his eyes glowed a dangerous green. Hot and bright and full of fury.
“Hurry up,” she whispered, her voice gone. “Please. Drive faster.”
