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~Charlotte~
DEAD SILENCE.
That’s the way it’s been for the last couple of hours since Matthew left for his meeting with Cal.
I still can’t believe Cal agreed to it. It doesn’t fit with what I know about him.
Sure, he could’ve changed in the many years since we last saw each other, but it’s highly unlikely. He’s one of those guys who stays true to who is, what he is, for better or worse. He’s entrenched in it, not looking to evolve or devolve. And one of the things I remember about him is that he doesn’t cave to pressure or threats. He doesn’t compromise or give any ground. Not to his enemies.
So, what is this all about then?
I don’t buy Priest’s reasoning, claiming it’s because of Cal’s feelings for me. I know they’re there. They are on my end too. But neither of us is that stupid to let that overrule everything, all sense of common sense and self-preservation.
I catch myself, realizing that my thoughts are finally making sense, that I’m finally able to maintain a lengthy thought, finally cognizant enough.
Before leaving, Matthew drugged me again. I passed out from it for a couple of hours. I’ve been awake for another two now. Most of that was spent staring into space in an almost catatonic-like state.
My tolerance to it must be stronger given that I’ve now endured about five doses, because I feel stronger and more aware of everything for the first time while being under the influence of the bastard’s heavy duty sedatives.
Stronger, not strong. Weakness is still permeating every part of my body. But I’ve worked with worse. I’ve endured hand-to-hand combat while wounded, more than once or twice.
Besides, some things can offset that sedative-induced weakness.
One of them is adrenaline. That’s gonna come soon enough in a massive surge.
The other is pain, a sudden shock of it.
And that’s coming right now.
I brace myself, then snap my right thumb harshly to the side, dislocating it, as I’ve had to do way too often for it to be okay. I grit my teeth to swallow down the cry that wants to come bursting from my throat at the jolting shot of pain.
Finagling my wrist a bit, I managed to slide my hand through one of the cuffs binding me to the chair opposite his desk. I do the same with my left, until I’m free of the constraints.
I shove my tank top into my mouth, gagging myself, just before I fix my thumbs back into place.
Son of a bitch!
Thankfully, the cotton stuffed in my mouth manages to stifle the sounds of my screams. I know from experience that I can’t hold that back when it comes to snapping them back into place.
I spit it out, then push out of the chair, wavering on my feet a little. Obviously, my condition seemed better while I was seated.
No matter, I’ll just do what I always do and persevere.
I round the desk and try the drawers, searching for anything that can function as a weapon. Matthew confiscated my other weapons. My jacket is nowhere to be seen. Both my holsters are gone too, my hip holster with the Beretta in it, and my leg holster with my trusty knife secured to it. I’m just in my black strappy tank. One good thing about the sedative he shot me up with is it’s keeping me warm from the fever-like state it’s caused.
The desk top is clear, not even a pen or a letter opener lying around.
But it doesn’t take me long to realize that all three drawers are unlocked.
Fool.
For someone who’s apparently researched me so excessively, it really is an oversight to not even account for me getting free. Sometimes arrogance overshadows everything though. Men and their egos. It’s come in handy a lot over the years.
I try all three drawers. Just stationery, aside from another pair of cuffs that are virtually identical to the ones he used on me.
I grab a sterling silver letter opener and a Mont Blanc fountain pen, one in either hand.
They look like nothing, definitely not weapons for taking out the small army he has stationed throughout this property. But anything can become an extremely effective weapon in the hands of the right, highly-trained individual. Just as his Gatekeepers are about to find out.
