Oh, my head.
A sad little whimper escaped me as I tried to reach up to cradle my throbbing temples.
But I couldn’t.
My arms wouldn’t move.
And when I tried, something thick bit into my wrists.
My whole body stiffened.
I was cuffed.
How was I cuffed?
My eyes blinked open, staring at a dark room. Cinderblock walls. Cement floor. No windows. One door.
And I would bet good money that the person who cuffed me was on the other side of it, just waiting for me to try to make a break for it.
What happened?
My brain felt like soup.
The more I tried to remember, the thicker and more murky everything became.
I remembered being on the boat. Sun, water, food,Caymen.
How had I gotten from the boat to… wherever this was?
Had Caymen and I decided to go back to shore? If so, why? We’d been safer on the boat. No one for miles. No way for anyone to get to us.
Unless… unless there’d been some sort of development. Maybe the club called to say Arty found the camper? Had we headed back to go talk to the guys who stole back the shipment?
But if that was the case, why didn’t I remember it?
Had I been hit on the head?
That would explain the splitting headache. And the dizziness. The confusion. Even the nausea.
If I’d been hit on the head, though, it wasn’t just some accident. Clearly, someone had gotten to me.
Had they gotten to Caymen?
I knew in my heart that there was no way Caymen would have let me be taken. Not without one hell of a fight anyway. Was he out there somewhere hurt? Would his club brothers be able to find him? Would they be able to find me?
Panic unfurled in my chest, making my heartbeat kick into overdrive and my throat tighten.
No.
No, I had to focus.
Panicking wasn’t going to help me get out of this. And as things stood right then, I had to operate under the assumption that no one was coming to save me, that I had to get myself out of this.
As bad as this felt with what felt like two or three flex cuffs around my wrists and ankles, in a windowless room made of cement, nothing was impossible. Not really. I just had to be smart. Strategic. Lean into everything I was taught growing up.
One of those things was that next to handcuffs and duct tape, the easiest thing to get out of… was zip ties. Sure, the cuff kind was more difficult. And, yes, layering them on made everything more complicated.
It was still doable.
