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I close my eyes again.

Think. What would Roman do?

He’d assess the situation.

I'm on my side behind the passenger seat.

No seat belt.

My ankles⁠—

I move one carefully.

Free.

The other.

Also free.

My hands are behind my back. Something rough digs into my wrists. Rope.

I flex my fingers. They work.

Good.

My shoulders ache. My hip hurts. A spot throbs near my temple. But nothing feels broken.

Also good.

I slowly rotate one wrist.

The rope barely shifts.

I stop.

Mercer keeps driving.

I try again. The rope scrapes over my skin, but it moves.

My pulse kicks harder.

He must’ve tied me in a hurry.

Makes sense. He grabbed me from a bathroom in the middle of a crowded restaurant with Violet minutes away. He didn't have time to make everything perfect.

Good. I hope his entire fucking day goes downhill from here.

I work my wrist again, millimeter by millimeter. My skin burns. I don't care.

The rope loosens. Not enough, but it’s something.

The vehicle slows slightly.

I freeze.

Mercer looks into the rearview mirror.

I close my eyes and let my face go slack.