Page 129 of Power & Punishment

A sharp pain echoes inside my chest, distracting me from the stinging sensation of raw skin shifting against the rope. When we first met, I was sure he’d be a blip in the road. A really tough and impenetrable obstacle that I’d have to struggle against for a while, and eventually it’d go away.

But now I can’t imagine my life without him.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus.

I shift on my side, sucking in a sharp breath before attempting a different angle with the rope. Then something crinkles inside my pocket.

I go still.

I was sure they emptied my pockets, but maybe Shrek is just as stupid as he looks.

I bite down on my lip, trying to contain my excitement. Adjusting my position, I’m able to shimmy the object out of my pocket and onto the bed.

It’s the matchbook.

I almost burst out in laughter…or tears.

I work fast, using my arm to slide the matchbook behind me. Once it’s in position, I fumble it open with numb fingers, smiling when a match wiggles free.

My hands shake as I blindly attempt to scrape the match head against the striker.

Nothing.

I try again and I still can’t get the right amount of pressure.

“Come on,” I whisper under my breath, listening for footsteps in the hall. It’s quiet, but that doesn’t make me feel better.

I strike it one more time, and when I hear a whizzing noise, a huge grin breaks across my lips.

Relief crashes inside me as the tiny flame comes to life. I ignore the heat licking up my wrist and try to keep the match close enough to the rope, but far enough not to burn my skin too badly.

The flame comes into contact with the rope and smoke curls as the fibers begin to blacken.

I start to panic as the smell burns my nostrils. If there is someone outside, they’ll be able to smell the smoke any second.

Right when my neck starts to feel slick with sweat, the rope snaps, releasing my wrists. I jerk my hand free and quickly blow out the match.

Ripping the charred rope away, I swing my legs off the bed, nearly collapsing as pins and needles shoot up and down my legs. Blood rushes to my head as I force myself upright. I sway at first, but when I finally get my bearings the only thought I have is to move.

I’m about to head toward the door when I realize if there is someone out there, I need a weapon and unfortunately the sparse room doesn’t have much to work with. So, I unbuckle my belt and make do with what I have.

When I press my ear to the door and hear nothing, I carefully twist the doorknob.

It’s unlocked.

Either Adrian is cocky enough to believe I’d never escape, or there’s something else distracting him. Honestly, both options are equally believable.

When I step into the hallway, I keep my footing light in case the old wood creaks under my weight. The area is dimly lit, making the old wallpaper look significantly creepier and a real testament to Adrian’s taste.

I grip my belt and press forward. I need to find Keith and fast.

I peek over the railing to make sure I’m completely alone. The house is suspiciously quiet except for some muted jazz music playing somewhere downstairs.

Seeing no one, I go to work checking doors.

Each door I open and find nothing behind is like a shot in the chest. Time is running out, and I’m starting to wonder if Keith is even here.

Or alive.