Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
So she has no idea if we’re being bugged either.
“You okay?” I ask her. Voices echo in the hallway outside the door. I’m piecing things together about who this is and why they want us, why they killed Gray but didn’t kill us.
“Other than being drugged, watching my boyfriend get killed, and being taken hostage first by you and then whoever the hell they are? Just peachy. You?”
Boyfriend… the asshole she was with was her boyfriend. Good to know. There’s more to this story than it seemed at first.
“Cut the bullshit. We’re both hostages here for who knows what or how long, and there’s no telling if we’re a better use to them dead or alive, though it seems alive, and it might be the only reason we’re still breathing.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me your injuries.”
“You gonna doctor me up?” she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The little brat. “Tell me your fucking injuries.”
She sighs. “Hit my head. My lips feel swollen, but that might be from the meds.”
“Yeah.” Okay, so, so far nothing sounds like it will prevent her from running if we have to.
“My wrists hurt where I’m tied, and my—oh! Oh, shit,” she says, her voice dropping. “I just remembered.”
“Yeah?”
“They—do you think we’re being bugged?”
“No idea. If they have cameras in here, they won’t see anything because it’s so dark. And it’s a small room, so the chances they took the time to set anything up are pretty slim.”
“How do you know it’s a small room?”
“Took him four steps to get to us from the doorway and saw the corners when the door opened. Plus, the air in here’s getting stale now that we’re both awake, but it’s probably still a good idea to talk discreetly so they don’t pick up shit.”
“Right,” she whispers. “Do you remember what Orlando said to get before they got us?”
My mind feels like thick sludge, and it makes me want to punch a wall. I hate someone fucking with my mind more than anything. I’d rather die a painful, drawn-out death than lose my mind to illness or disease. I close my eyes, remembering… I called Orlando, that much I know.
I push, trying to open up my mind and replay the conversation, when suddenly it comes rushing back with such vivid clarity. I sit up straighter.
“Your phone’s set up to send an SOS with three pushes of the volume button… there’s a tiny transponder in the glove compartment. It works the same as a cell.”
My voice is husky and low in the darkness. “I remember. Where is it?”
“I shoved it in my bra.”
If they’re tapping us, we have to move fast.
“Fuck. We’re tied together and I’m guessing you can’t reach it.”
“No, I’d have to be a circus performer to reach my bra with my chin.”
“A sight I’d pay good money to see.”
“Jesus.”
“Just sayin’.”
I’m thinking.
“What kind of a bond is this?” she asks.
“Feels like rope. They weren’t prepared to take us.”
“Right. Okay. Okay, alright,” she says, her voice getting excited, as if she’s just had a good thought. “If we work together, we might unfasten these bonds if they’re just ropes.”
“You were drugged when they tied you up, and I don’t remember when they tied me up, but if I was tensing in any way when they did, or fighting, if I relax in the restraints, they’ll likely be looser.”
She nods. “Okay, alright. That’s a good plan.”
“They did a shit job here. My legs are free, you?”
“Yeah, same.”
“So all we’ve got is our hands tied together and something holding us together. Remember that. Your untied legs are your best weapon. Actually, any freedom of movement you have at all is.”
I can feel her straining as she looks over her shoulder. “There’s only one tie that’s binding us together.”
“Right. Good. Okay, so you can’t move your hands in front of you if you’ve got them behind your back, and I can’t either. But if we unfasten the short rope tying us together—”
“We can undo each other’s wrists,” she finishes.
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so I’m gonna go slack. You go slack, too, and let’s see if that loosens the bonds at all.”
“Right.”
My heart beats faster as her body gentles against mine, going limp. I relax as much as I can, my body loose and slack. The ropes around my wrists feel looser.
“I get more slack that way,” she says, so low I can barely hear her. “Definitely. I’m gonna try to see if there’s any difference in the two bonds. See if I can’t distinguish them.”
I thread my fingers over rough rope, touching my wrists first. Hard, thick rope binds my wrists together, and I can’t get much more than my thumb across one. But I can feel her hands up against mine, and it’s easier to feel the rope along her wrist. As I wriggle, finding the rope, I feel something around my waist.