Not much. But some.
I shift carefully, testing my bonds. The zip ties don't give. Too tight. Cut too deep into my skin.
My dress. The hot pink silk is bunched around my thighs, hiked up from being dragged. I can feel the cool air on my legs.
My shoes.
The thought hits like lightning.
My shoes.
Lorenzo's voice in my head from six months ago:"You're sure these will work?"
"They'll work. Trust me."
I'd embedded the tracking devices in all their shoes. Made them promise to wear them. Made them promise to activate them if anything ever happened.
But I never made one for myself.
Except—
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Except I did. I made one for myself too. Just in case. Embedded it in my favorite pair of heels. The black ones I wear to everything important.
The ones I'm wearing right now.
I need to reach my shoe.
The van turns sharply. I slide again, this time toward the back doors. My shoulder hits metal. Pain shoots down my arm but I use the momentum, rolling onto my side.
My hands are behind my back. But if I can just?—
I curl my body, bringing my knees up toward my chest. The zip ties on my ankles dig in but I ignore it. Ignore the pain. Ignore everything except the need to reach my feet.
My fingers brush fabric. The hem of my dress.
Not far enough.
I strain harder, arching my back, pushing my bound hands down as far as they'll go. My shoulders scream in protest. The zip ties cut deeper into my wrists. I feel something warm and wet—blood probably—but I don't stop.
My fingertips touch leather.
The heel of my shoe.
Almost.
The van hits another bump. I lose my grip, body sliding forward again.
No. No, no, no.
I curl up again, faster this time. Desperate. My fingers find the shoe, trace the edge of the heel, searching for?—
There.
The small indentation. Barely noticeable unless you know it's there. I press down hard with my thumb.
Click.
