Page 63 of Savage Little Secret

Right now, it’s Heavy Foot’s shift in the basement. He makes the stairs creak loudly whenever he walks on them, and he gets out of breath faster than the others when he moves and speaks. He can’t beat on me for long.

Chain Smoker will take over in a few hours. His voice is raspy, and the smell of cigarette smoke always lingers on his clothes. His hand feels smaller and bonier than the others when he grabs me and hits me.

Creep takes what I assume to be the night shift. I always smell the sugary scent of energy drinks on his breath when he whispers crude things in my ear. I often hear him crush the cans in his hand and toss them to the side of the room. When he isn’t yawning and gulping down his drinks, he’s grabbing my hair, threatening to do horrid things to me if I don’t start talking.

I don’t talk. That makes him angrier.

Creep’s shift is the longest, but he doesn’t stay in the room the whole time. None of them do. They’ll disappear for up to thirty minutes at a time to eat, watch TV, or whatever else upstairs.

Show Tunes takes the early morning shift. I can hear him whistling before he even opens the door to come downstairs. He always smells like coffee. My stomach typically growls the most when he’s monitoring me, especially since he’s the one who is supposed to feed me my one meal a day. He doesn’t speak much to me when he’s not ordering me to answer questions.

Their leader comes by periodically. He asks his questions, says whatever cruel things he thinks will break down my spirit, threatens to suffocate me with a hand on my throat, and leaves. Like a ritual.

He’s the most unpredictable. But the others? I’ve been monitoring all of them over the last several days, observing as much as I can with the blindfold on.

During shift changes, the guards will talk a little. I haven’t heard anything that clues me in to who they are, but I know that they’re routinely going to the city for supplies. I must be out in the middle of nowhere. No traffic. No sirens. No city hum. Just insects at night and that constant fan upstairs.

I should’ve been doing all of this from the start, but I was scared, hopeless, and beaten down. I didn’t think it would matter, but now I know that it does.

If I’m pregnant with Dmitri’s baby, I need to do everything in my power to get us the hell out of here. I’m not just fighting for myself anymore, and that’s given me the spark of motivation that I need to fight like hell.

Strategy comes before the attack, and I think I have a plan in mind.

Heavy Foot wanders around the room before moving toward the stairs, crunching on what I assume are potato chips. I can smell them. He shoves his large hand that I’ve felt grab my arm in a bruising grip into the chip bag, digging around for the next one to shove into his mouth.

If there’s anyone that’ll be the easiest to thwart, it’s him. He’s the one who is the most out of shape, and he’s lazy. I’ve already heard their leader snapping at him for not doing his job.

While it’s still his shift, it’s time.

“I need to pee,” I say.

Heavy Foot sighs in annoyance. He crushes the empty bag in his palm before walking over to me.

I stay completely still as he unties me, not doing anything that’ll make him think that I’m trying to escape. It’s not time for that part of the plan yet.

Heavy Foot grabs my arm and jerks me upright to my feet before forcing my hands behind my back. He pushes me forward, somewhat guiding me toward the stairs.

I carefully make my way up them with all my aches and pains, pausing when he pulls me back to open the door at the top of the staircase. I walk through and listen, hearing a sports announcer talking animatedly from a nearby room.

“Let’s go! Come on!”

“Go, go, go!”

Shouts echo from that room as the men watch what I think is soccer on the television.

“What’s the score?” Heavy Foot asks them.

“Two to one! You’re missing a hell of a game!”

Heavy Foot grumbles and pushes me to the left where I remember the bathroom being down toward the end of a narrow hallway. He opens the bathroom door and pushes me again to go inside.

“You’ve got five minutes to do your business. Have your blindfold on when I come get you, or I’ll take your eyes for real,” he warns me before slamming the door shut.

It’s the same warning every time. They really want to keep their anonymity.

My heart pounds faster as I hear his footsteps disappear. He’s so focused on that stupid game that he’s giving me the perfect opportunity to do what I need to do.

I strip off the blindfold, and the light knifes into my eyes.