“If this is some kind of trick…”
“It’s not,” I assure him.
“It better not be. ‘Cause if it is, you’ll regret it when I get back. I’ll make sure of it.”
With that, he steps outside. I breathe a sigh of relief, almost unable to believe my luck. He’s gone. I hope the girls have gotten enough of a head start that they’ll be able to hide when they hear his bike coming.
As for me… I turn my focus to the piece of glass on the floor before me. It’s the same size and shape as a tortilla chip, but with a much sharper edge. And if I can just get my hands on it, I know I’ll be able to get free.
Rolling onto my side with a groan, I buck my hips forward, tightening my muscles, dragging myself closer to it. The action sends electric jolts of agony through my skull, causing me to break out in a sweat. Tears squeeze from my eyes, and my breath becomes a ragged pant. All that for one, maybe two inches of movement. But every centimeter brings me closer to freedom.
A noise behind me causes me to fall still. My heart feels like it just skipped a beat. Maybe I won’t have to put forth the effort. Maybe the girls are still here and now they’re coming for me.
I stare at the door expectantly. But it’s not Amelia or Danielle who appears.
Skunk circles behind me, grabs me by the arms and drags me over to the sleeping bag the girls were on when I first arrived. The ragged ends of the rope we cut through stick through the knotholes again. He uses them to tie me to the wall.
This time, when he leaves, there is no hope. There’s just me, unable to move. Looking at the shard of glass across the room until darkness falls and I can no longer see it. Suspecting that I just traded a quick death for a far more painful one.
CHAPTER 24
Every time I open my eyes, all that’s changed is the shadows. I have no idea how much time has passed, whether it’s been hours or days. I know only that the ache in my head has finally started to fade—but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.
Because all of my senses have started to dull. I can no longer smell the metallic odor of Worm’s blood or my own. The sound of the wind ruffling through the trees and the birdsong I know must still surround the shack have been replaced by the gentle lull of the ocean in my ears.
The objects that share the room with me have lost their distinct edges and are now surrounded by hazy halos. My skin is numb and my limbs feel foreign, like they belong to a different body. My hands are squeezed shut, too weak and cramped to work. Even the hard knot of hunger that’s plagued me has faded. The only thing that remains sharp is the bite of my thirst.
My mouth is a desert, my tongue rough and cracked,my throat clenched tight like a fist. Even my teeth, when I try to suck them to work up some spit, are painfully dry.
I don’t know which of my symptoms have been caused by my concussion and which are the result of dehydration. I don’t have the energy to care. Every time my thoughts start to drift to the hopelessness of my situation, I pray for sleep. And blessedly, it comes.
Which is why I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or not when Skunk appears before me. Not until he cuts me free from the wall. With nothing holding me upright, I slump over, falling onto my side.
He stands over me, his mouth moving. He gestures with his hands. Frowns.
I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come back and claim me once more.
But then I’m moving. He grunts as he drags me by my ankles. Across the room. Out the door. Over sticks and leaves and dirt until he finally releases me next to a cart attached to a rusting motorized bike.
He isn’t gentle as he wrestles me into it, my bonds straining as he forces my body to contort. The heat, as he covers me with a tarp, is almost unbearable. The inch of water I’m resting in feels like it’s boiling. I turn my head and drink it anyway. Push a leaf out of my mouth with my tongue. And slowly feel myself reanimate.
I’m careful as I unclench my left fist. The one with the small pocketknife grasped inside. The pocketknife that the girls left behind when they escaped.
I hadn’t been able to open it. I’d spent hours trying, but my coordination had been too clumsy to hook a nail into the small crescent on the edge. But now, I try again.
I’m fueled by desperation. Sheer stubbornness. And, when the intense pain returns to my head as I’m bounced and jarred over the rough forest floor, fury. I’m not goingdown without a fight.
I have no idea what that fight is going to look like yet, only that it’s not going to be pretty. Because as I manage to pull the blade from its housing, get it under the rope by my wrist and start sawing, all I can think about is how it’s going to feel when I jam the dull piece of metal into Skunk’s body—preferably in time to get away before he turns me over to Bianchi’s men.
It’s that desire that keeps me working long after the water is gone and my clothes are drenched in sweat. As the uneven terrain turns into the smooth surface of road. And as my bonds ever so slowly begin to fray and loosen.
The drone of the engine drops in pitch as we slow. The bike turns but fails to regain speed, inching along until we come to a stop. The motor ceases. In the sudden silence, I hear Skunk’s feet as he dismounts and they hit the ground.
I’m out of time. A blanket of panic wraps tight around me. My heart beats erratically. Reluctantly, I remove the knife from beneath the rope and slide it up under the sleeve of my sun shirt, holding it in place with my thumb.
The tarp above me is snatched away. I suck in giant lungful’s of fresh air, wincing against the blinding sunlight. Struggle to maintain my grip on my weapon as I’m rolled over the side of the cart onto the hard, unforgiving asphalt.
Skunk’s hands wrap around me, digging deep into my flesh. He grunts as he jerks me to my feet. I stumble but manage to catch my balance and stand. Wish I could knee him in the head as he removes the rope that held my calves together. Instead, I pretend to be too weak to struggle and meekly obey as he marches me toward a long, low, derelict building that looks like it was oncestorage units, half dragging me with him.
