I run my hands over what I can of the ropes binding my wrists. Fucking idiots to not use zip ties. Is this the nineteenth century? Handcuffs, then zip ties have been standard for like a hundred and fifty years.
“This was a planned job, so they shouldn’t be improvising. Do you think the rope is a setup to get us to try to free ourselves?”
“I assume so, but they were still foolish enough to use it. Do you think you can work yours loose?”
“Yeah. From what I can feel, I recognize the knot.”
It might be an old-fashioned method to restrain a hostage, but I was still trained to escape various types of knots. Plus, I like shit kinky and have been bound several different ways.
“Ransom or live stream?”
Do they want our families to pay for our freedom, or will they torture our families by forcing them to watch our torture and death? Either is a strong likelihood. I wish I knew more about our captors because even a slight hint of who they work for can help me narrow down whether this is sanctioned or rogue. Either’s possible.
“Chiquita, we’re going on a luxury vacation the moment we’re free of this shit. Do you want beach, lake, mountains, or desert?”
He’s thinking about romantic getaways?
Not a bad distraction.
“You’d think growing up in a floating city would make me tired of being on and around the water, but I’ll always choose that over any other destination. Beach is preferable, but I wouldn’t turn down a trip to Banff or Lake Como. I’ll even take the Alps as long as it’s not winter. I don’t do snow. What do you like?”
“I prefer the beach. I will never choose the snow. I’m genetically disinclined to cold weather.”
I hear the humor in his tone, and it lightens the mood for a moment.
“Islands?”
“Sure. The Azores, Seychelles, South Pacific. Any of those works for me.”
“Mmm. I’ve never been to the Seychelles. I prefer warm water.”
Despite all the water around Venice, I wouldn’t get into any of it. It’s freezing and disgusting.
“Me too. Is a month too short?”
“A month?”
I barely get more than a few days’ vacation each year since I’m always on call. The idea of an entire month of lazing on a beach with my gorgeous boyfriend is enough to make me want to work out the knots immediately.
“Chica,are you picturing sex on the beach?”
“I wasn’t, but I am now.”
“I’m definitely picturing you at least topless.”
“Are you a sex addict? Do you think about anything else?”
“Now that I know you, yes. Yes, I am. It’s entirely your fault for being so hot.”
His tone is dead serious now. He means what he’s saying. He looks at me like the most gorgeous woman in the world—when he isn’t—wasn’t—thinking about how I’m—I was—trying to kill him. I much prefer that to his suspicion.
“Jandro, you know this isn’t a setup, right? Like, I didn’t arrange this to trap you.”
“I never thought you had. We’ve moved past that.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
We’re still keeping our voices low, but I whisper that word extra softly. I know he heard me though because I see the corner of his mouth turn up. We fall silent while we’re both lost in thought. At least, I am. Perhaps he’s resting, but I doubt it. He’s never struck me as a man whose mind is at rest. To keep my mind from spiraling, I consider counting the minutes, but that’ll only drive me nuts.
