My muscles lock.
He sees it.
“Relax,” he says. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up.”
“That your version of comfort?”
“No.” He tests the blade with his thumb. “This is.”
He steps behind me.
The knife slides between my wrists and the zip tie.
For one insane second, I think he is cutting me loose.
Then he cuts only the old tie and replaces it with metal cuffs.
Cold.
Heavy.
Locked.
He threads the chain through the back of the chair and snaps it to something I can’t see. More secure. Less chance of me using sharp plastic. Less chance of me getting lucky.
“You’ve done this before,” I say.
“A few times.”
“Women?”
“Enemies.”
Toro comes back around, pocketing the key.
They leave me alone, but not long enough for my breath to even out.
The burner on the table rings.
Every man in the warehouse freezes.
Not pings.
Rings.
Toro turns slowly.
Boca looks at the phone like it turned into a snake. “Already?”
The screen glows from across the room.
I can’t see the name.
But I know.
I know before Toro picks it up. I know by the way the air changes. By the way my own body reacts, pain and fear and something bright twisting all together.
Toro answers and puts it on speaker.
