Noah grunted. “Okay, so what do I do if I can’t out-muscle someone?”
“Outsmart them instead.”
He nodded solemnly, a smile slowly stretching his slender lips. “That I can do.”
Dmitri chortled, and I slipped back the way I’d come, letting Dmitri again get Noah into a fighting stance.
Jessie
I looked around the shed, my eyes as adjusted to the low light as they could be. There were a few tools left abandoned in its rusty hulk, which only strengthened my hypothesis that wherever this shed was, no one other than my kidnappers would be opening its doors soon.
An old hoe with a broken and splintery handle, a shovel—I was liking shovels more and more after lopping off a couple of Gabriel’s fingers with one in a pinch. Pinch. I snorted despite my predicament. Pinching was one thing Gabe wouldn’t be doing easily ever again. Not with his right hand.
The gag molded to my smile and I tested my wrists against the duct tape binding them. Still snug. I needed to correct that. I needed my hands free in order to have any chance of getting out of here alive.
Unless they wanted me alive … But why…? Why did I feel like bait for some trap?
I scooted around to get a better view of my surroundings. An old lawn mower, a gas can—probably empty since I couldn’t really smell fumes seeping out—and …
That’d do nicely.
Propped against one hard rubber wheel was an old lawn-mower blade. If I could just make sure it stayed still … I looked at it and where it rested and tried to keep the picture carefully in my mind as I edged my way back around so my stiff but grasping fingers were closest to the blade. I carefully reached out toward it and tried sliding the duct tape along one edge of its blade, but it rocked and I caught my breath and froze, afraid it would roll back and totally out of reach.
Tentatively I caught hold of the blade with one hand and tugged at it until I heard it scrape and roll forward over the wheel. I grunted. Yeah. Niiice. Right into my back. That’d bruise.
I grabbed it again and gave a little shake, but it stayed still. Adjusting my position, I stroked my wrists along the old blade’s length, rubbing and rubbing until I heard the duct tape begin to give way, threads popping as I continued, layer by layer, chafing metal against my wrists in order to free them.
My shoulders began to ache, but my hands—my hands began to move farther apart by increments of millimeters as I sawed through the tape.
Adapt to survive. I could do this.
With one last pop, the tape tore loose and my hands fell limp at my sides.
I shook my shoulders, urging life back into my limbs. I stood up and stretched.
I tried the door and heard chains rattle outside. No good going out that way.
I picked up the shovel and swung at the hole in the roof. It puckered with a horrible creak and groan—as loud as the noise the Titanic probably made when it split. More snow fell in, but I’d barely made a dent. And the last thing I wanted to do was alert my captors to my attempts at escape.
I was trapped.
Dammit.
Looking at my red and worn wrists, I nearly started to peel the tape free of them, but I thought better of it. Better to maintain appearances.
Better yet to find a weapon so that reality was far from what it appeared.
I rooted around the tilting shelves of the shed, nudging baby food jars filled with rusting nails and screws of all sizes out of my way as I looked for an easily concealable weapon.
I was faced with only two viable, but grim, options: a flathead screwdriver (like a distant cousin of an ice pick) and a trowel with a long and narrow point, its edges sharp for masonry.
Decisions, decisions …
Shrugging, the pain in my shoulders and arms made me want to yelp. I bit my lip, scrunched up my face, and rolled my shoulders until the pain was just another part of me. A very angry, motivated part of me. And the whole time I held the screwdriver in one hand and the trowel in the other, weighing my decision. Which was the best weapon?
I finally decided on both.
I sat back down, grabbed the discarded blanket, and prepared to wait for my rival for Pietr’s attention.
Or Gabriel.
I didn’t really have a preference.
Alexi
“Shit.” Max’s single exclamation summed up the sentiment in the truck as I slowed at the sight of a line of brake lights up ahead.
“Language,” Cat said.
“Can you see what is going on down there?” I asked him, slowing the truck down and bringing it to a stop so we had plenty of space between us and the car immediately ahead.
“From the lights…” He leaned forward and stared out the windshield. “It looks like a tree fell. Wires are down.”
“Ah. Country living,” I surmised. “Do we know another path to the motel?”
“I would use my phone’s GPS, but…” Pietr held his cell up, moved it around, and even touched it to part of the truck’s metal frame in hopes of getting it to act as an antenna. He growled—a weak sound in a boy who used to be a wolf. “No signal.”
We all tested our phones.
“Nothing,” I concluded.
“Bad traffic is not something that should hamper a rescue,” Max muttered.
“Pravda. That is true,” I reported, swinging the truck’s nose into the opposite lane and performing a less than elegant K-turn on the narrow road. “We shall not allow it to hamper our efforts for long,” I assured him. “Jessie will just need to hold on a bit longer.”
Marlaena
Outside his door I bent over and tried to catch my breath. Oh, sweet Jesus in Gethsemane, I’d really done it this time. I’d let him reject me outright. I’d given him the upper hand. And even after that—after he’d all but drawn first blood, I’d naïvely admitted that I felt something for him. That I had some emotional connection with him—even as lame as “like” was.
Damn it. I straightened and focused on the dimming light in the sky. It would be dusk soon. I’d let time slip away from me. How long until Pietr and his gang realized that Jessica was missing? How long until they figured I had something to do with it and came hunting us?
God. The sickness swelled in my gut at his words. He wasn’t good enough for me.… We both knew it was a lie. But how could an alpha who was higher in rank than Gareth still have to climb to be his moral equal?
Maybe if I just released her … Maybe there was still a chance all might be forgiven. Maybe I wouldn’t be falling into what suddenly felt like some snare Gabriel had set. For me.