Gunfire. Alotof gunfire.
Through blood, dirt, and sweat Blaise grins. “Club’s here.”
Deacon’s a coward—who else beats a man tied to a chair and asks a girl to do his dirty work? He limps out of the room. Leaving us alone. At least Blaise is no longer being hurt.
“Can you stand?” Blaise asks.
“Maybe.” It’s awkward, but I manage to kick my other leg free.
“Good girl. Now walk yourself closer.”
It’s not as easy as it sounds, since I still don’t have use of my arms. “This is a lot of effort for some hand-holding,” I grumble as I huff and turtle-walk my way over.
“There’s a knife in my boot, smartass.”
It takes a number of tries and a lot of uncomfortable contorting to get the knife. “You owe me a day at the spa after this. I need a hot stone massage.”
“Baby, I’ll put my hot hands on every inch of your hot body when we get out of here.”
I snort out a laugh. All the contorting and twisting to get myself behind his chair has me breathing heavy, but I don’t stop.
“Cut me loose,” he says, barely concealing the urgency in his voice.
Upstairs, more gunfire, shouting, and pounding on the floor over our heads.
“Blaise, I can barely move my hands. I don’t want to cut you.”
He’s silent for a few seconds. “I trust you. You can do it.”
Considering Istabbedhim a few months ago, that’s an awful lot of faith he’s got in me. I can’t disappoint him. This is my chance to truly make up for what I did.
“Kady, baby, I’ll survive a few scratches. You can do it. Don’t be scared.” Despite the beating he took, he’s calm and delivers each word with confidence.
Confidence that I won’t hurt him.
Since I can’t see what I’m doing, my fingers slide over his ropes, figuring out where I need to aim the knife.
“Don’t drop the knife,” Blaise warns.
Focusing all my effort on the short piece of rope between his hands, I take a few exploratory slices.
“This is going to take forever.”
“You’re doing good, baby. Keep going,” he urges, pulling his hands apart to put as much tension in the rope as he can.
At least I haven’t cut or scratched him. I also haven’t made a lot of progress. If all that noise upstairs isn’t from our rescuers, we’re fucked.
I’m maybe halfway through the rope when the basement door bursts open and feet thunder down the stairs.
“Hang on to the knife, Kady,” he warns.
“Blaise!” someone shouts. “Kadence!”
All the tension drains from my body.
“In here, Dad!” Blaise shouts.
Bolt, Thorn, and Dante shove their way inside our tiny torture chamber.
