Her ankles separated. She twisted to her knees, her legs weak and trembling, before she pushed up with a grunt until she stood.
The room spun, and she was forced to reach out. She held onto the wall until the world fell back onto its axis.
But she was up.
Still clutching the jagged glass, she stumbled into the far corner, crouched low, pulled her panties down, and relieved herself with a shuddering sigh of relief. The act felt shameful, but also defiant. She yanked her panties back up.
She was still in control. And now, she had a fighting chance. She breathed deeply, remembering all the lessons her grandfather had insisted she do in case something like this ever happened and he wasn’t around to help her.
Pulling her skirt up, she ripped a strip from the hem and wound around the base of the glass shard, creating a crude handle. Her fingers throbbed with pain, but she didn’t let go.
She wouldn’t get a second chance. Her gaze flew to the door.
If he opened it and saw her standing—saw the straps broken—he would attack immediately. If he had a gun, it would be over before she could defend herself. She remembered the strength of his arms when he grabbed her on the trawler. He was stronger than he had been as a boy.
No, the only way she could defeat him was to take him by surprise—and not be afraid to do whatever was necessary for her to survive.
Her head whipped around, her eyes scanning the room for an idea. A plan.
Nothing. Nowhere to hide.
Then—her gaze snapped to the plastic straps.
She slowly walked back to the mattress, her heart hammering. Every cell in her body rebelled at the idea of sitting back down, pretending to be defenseless again. The terror was so strong she wasn’t sure she could do it. She wanted to throw up.
“You can do this,” she whispered fiercely, willing her body to obey. “You have to.”
She twisted until she was sitting back down where she had been before. With quivering fingers, she picked up the broken ankle strap and placed it back over her ankles as if it had never been cut. Once satisfied Zayan wouldn’t be able to tell it had been sliced unless hereally looked, she fumbled to slide her raw, bleeding wrist back through the one still hanging from the pipe.
It hung too loosely—but maybe it would be enough to trick him.
The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor made her heart hammer in her chest. She tucked the glass shard under her skirt, hidden in the folds.
Her lungs burned as she waited.
“Please, give me strength. Please let me get away from him,” she whispered, bowing her head and trying to control her breathing.
The footsteps stopped.
Her shivering increased as the click of the lock echoed through her head. She bit her sore lip, watching with growing anxiety as the doorknob turned.
The door creaked.
She dropped her head, letting her hair fall forward over her face.
He took another step toward her, slow and deliberate. The floor creaked beneath his feet.
She didn’t want to look up, but she did.
Zayan.
This time, he wasn’t wearing a mask.
She felt his eyes on her—hungry, cruel.
“Now,” he murmured, his voice thick with malice, “Now we finish what you denied me four years ago, my sweet, Dani.”
Paralyzed by fear, her whole body shook, a silent scream trapped in her throat.
