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When he focuses on the cross around my neck, he seems remorseful, which has me wondering why he’s doing this.
“Please,” I mumble from around the gag, pleading he take it out.
He rocks back on his heels, wrestling with my demands. The only thing I have at my disposal are my eyes, which is ironic because so does he. I beg him for help, putting everything I can into my expression. He is my only hope at getting out of here.
A single tear trickles down my cheek and into my gag. This is useless. I’m bargaining with the devil. But when he exhales loudly and slowly bends forward, a new sense of hope overcomes me.
“I’m going to take this out, all right? Don’t make me regret it.” He pins me with a promise—if I disobey him, I will pay.
I dare not breathe.
The blood whooshes through my ears, and my heart races in a deafening staccato as he removes the gag from my mouth. He is poised by me, ready to put it back in if I go back on my word. I don’t…for now.
The moment it’s out, I gulp in mouthfuls of air to replenish my depleted lungs. I instantly get dizzy as it’s too much, too fast. Steadying my breathing, I calm the storm within.
When I stop wheezing, I peer upward at Saint. “Th-thank you.” My mouth is dry, and my voice hoarse, so it takes me three attempts to speak. He nods once, arms folded, but other than that, he makes no attempts to move or talk.
Visions of him dropping to one knee and punishing Drew with his fists overwhelm me, but I swallow down my fear. “I need to use the bathroom.”
It’s the oldest trick in the book, but I’m certain that door leads to a bathroom, a bathroom which will hopefully have a window. As far as plans go, it’s weak and will probably get me killed, but I’d prefer that option to awaiting my doom.
Saint’s chest rises before it depresses with a loud exhale. “Please, I know you’re not like the others,” I say in a rushed breath. “You tried to help me earlier.”
“You know nothing,” he growls, shaking his head firmly.
Recoiling, I quickly backtrack. “My name is Willow, Willow Shaw.” By telling him my name, I’m hopefully allowing him to see that I’m a person and not a thing.
“Stop talking.” He swoops forward, intent on gagging me again, but tears, ugly tears break past the floodgates.
“Please d-don’t gag m-me.” My lower lip quivers as the thought of it turns my stomach.
“You talk too much,” he counters as though gagging me is the acceptable solution.
“I know. I’m s-sorry. But I’m sc-scared. What are you going to do with m-me?” I whisper, afraid of his reply but needing to hear it anyway.
Thankfully, he stops his advance and doesn’t gag me for the time being. There is so much behind those vivid eyes. He is wrestling with his decision once again. “I’m going to untie you so you can use the bathroom. You go with the door open.”
I nod eagerly.
Sighing, he yanks a thin silver chain from under his shirt, and I see a key dangling from the end. I have the sudden urge to draw back when he steps forward because his presence commands attention, but I remain utterly still as he bends low and reaches behind me.
My breathing is heavy, and being this close to him intensifies his fragrance. His fingers on my skin have me breaking out into goose bumps. He works deftly as he slips the key into the cuffs and unlocks them.
I instantly drop my hands by my side and roll my shoulders to get the feeling back into my arms. I clench and relax my hands until the circulation begins to flow.
He pulls away slowly, stopping when our faces are mere inches apart. An intake of breath gets trapped in my throat, but I peer up, challenging him to do his best.
Our pants fill the air as we examine each other carefully. My proximity appears to affect him, causing his pupils to dilate, and I gasp. His eyes dart to my heaving chest before they snap back up to meet my terrified ones.
He reaches behind him with an unhurried speed, and when the full moon peeking in from the window reflects off the silver from the blade he holds, I whimper, but I don’t move. This is a test, and I pass with flying colors as he drops to his knees, eyes still locked with mine, and he cuts through the rope around my ankles.
He is feral and in command, but I don’t feel threatened. Lord knows I should, but I’m not because I know that using my looks for evil has bought me some time. He likes what he sees, which is maybe why he skims his finger over my silver anklet before he stands and pockets his switchblade. If I wasn’t paying attention, I would have missed it or played it off as an accidental touch. But I know there is no such thing.
I’m free, but I suddenly have never felt more imprisoned than I do right now.
He’s waiting for me to make my next move. Again, another test.
I rise cautiously as I have no doubt I will be lightheaded. The blood whooshes through my body, but I find my center of gravity and stay upright. Placing my arms out wide, I balance myself, inhaling and exhaling slowly.
