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But another side of me, maybe a prideful part, didn't want to let them know they had finally gotten to me, unnerved me.
They would only use something like modesty as a source of humiliation for me.
And I'd be damned if I gave them anything to use against me, anything other than what they already had on their minds.
But wait.
Not their.
My head lifted up from where my chin was braced on a giant back, looking up to find the other three men had stayed behind, lifting their fallen comrade carefully, inspecting my damage.
The choker guy seemed to feel my inspection, head swiveling in my direction.
I don't know where it came from, what would possess me to do it.
But I did it.
Smiled.
Because maybe I was losing the war, but I had won a battle, damnit. And I was going to call that a victory.
I did what I said I would when I was brought here - an untold number of days, though it felt like weeks or months - I fought. I hurt them. I showed them that I was going to go down swinging.
And, in turn, he looked taken aback, confused, then almost... curious.
I wasn't sure that curious was what I wanted him to feel toward me, but it was too late for that as I was turned suddenly, the man taking me into a room.
A room with a door.
A room that maybe had a bed.
Where all the awful things Chris and Mary had endured would happen to me as well.
This was when fear finally started to swirl around my belly, making bile rise up in my throat.
I choked it back as I suddenly felt myself falling from his shoulder, remembering at the last possible second not to grab at him for stability.
I slammed down on unprepared heels, feeling a stabbing sensation through them and up my calves for a second before I felt a hand clamp on my shoulder, adding pressure until my body had no choice but to buckle.
Buckle.
Going down.
Down to what?
My knees?
Because, well, after witnessing what I had been willing to do to his body, he was a freaking idiot to think he could try to force anything in my mouth without me biting the thing clear off.
But even as the revolting, but possible, idea crossed my mind, my butt slammed down on a hard chair.
There wasn't even enough time to register that before I felt my wrist snagged, yanked back until my shoulder screamed, then felt something, small but thick, slide around my wrist, tighten, connect me to the back of the chair.
Zip tie.
Even as I realized it, my other wrist got the same treatment until my back was arched painfully backward to keep the ties from clawing at the delicate skin of my wrists.
"See if you can behave your fucking ass like that for a bit," he rumbled before moving off.
The door slammed closed behind him.
Closed.
But not locked.
Not as though that would do me any good tied to a chair.
They knew what they were doing.
The thought made my lip curl, hating the idea of clever bad guys, always wanted to think of them as base, thoughtless morons easily outsmarted.
But handcuffs were hard, could have been used to break the rungs on the back of the chair, freeing me enough to get down on the ground, bring the cuffs to the front, find something to pick them with, or simply run with them still bound. They would make a good noose if I could grab someone, use it to choke them, pulling their body tight, using them as a shield.
But zip ties wouldn't break the chair rungs.
Maybe I could saw into them given enough time, but I didn't figure I had a whole heck of a lot of that.
It wasn't that zip ties were unbreakable.
I'd broken sets of them as far back as eleven years old.
When they were bound in front of me. It was simple, really, bring your arms up, close your fists letting your fingers touch, then use every bit of momentum in your body to drive them down while pulling your arms out, swinging your elbows backward.
They broke almost effortlessly.
It wasn't much harder behind your back, either. You just bent forward, lifted your arms up, and rammed them downward onto your butt. Over and over.
It took a few times, but they'd break too.
But like this?
Pulled to no slack, so tight that I was worried about the circulation in my hands, connecting me to a solid item?
Yeah... I couldn't think of a way out of it.
My legs were free, though, I reminded myself, thinking.
I'd put dining room chairs together with Aunt Penny once, all Allen wrenches and screws and washers.
But weak in the joints, in the legs.
I took a deep breath, figuring it was worth a shot.
Getting to my feet, I folded forward as far as I could but still move, making the legs stick outward. Taking a deep breath, I squat-ran backward with every bit of force the awkward position would allow, slamming back into the wall with the hopes that the legs would crack off the seat which would fall out without the support.
