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My shoulder and thigh were in absolute agony.
I was just being stubborn because the guy was kind of an asshole.
Not evenkind of.
He was a complete asshole.
Some part of me just didn’t want to take anything from him. Even if it would make me feel better.
I slammed my head back on the cushion of the slightly elevated table, staring at the ugly lamp above me, wondering who the hell had shown up that had made this Surgeon guy rush off like that.
His boss, I guess?
What did you call a gang member’s boss?
Were they leaders?
Kingpins?
And what did it mean for me that one had suddenly shown up? Were they going to decide to let me go? Or would the boss say they screwed up in taking care of me? Was I going to end up with a bullet in the head after all?
No.
No, absolutely not.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Taking a deep breath, I sat back up, letting the pain help me clear my mind of niggling thoughts.
Steadying myself, I lifted my bad leg and started to scoot my butt, using my handcuffed wrist to help me maneuver, and just barely managing to bite back a string of curses as the pain racked my system.
I could make out the deep vibrations of male voices from somewhere outside the exam room, and I figured I had at least a couple of minutes before the door opened again.
If I tried hard enough, I might be able to figure out how to get out of the handcuffs. Or at least find some sort of weapon to protect myself with.
I was nobody’s action heroine.
I had a hard time even watching action movies with some kick-ass woman saving the day because it was just so far from my reality that I had a hard time suspending disbelief while I watched.
I didn’t do cardio kickboxing for fun or pick up and put down heavy objects to tone my body. I damn sure never turned down a good, decadent dessert when I was having a rough day.
Sure, I traveled with an eye-gouger, but the idea of actually having to use it made me feel queasy.
That said, I did believe that no one truly knew what they were capable of until they were backed into a corner, until they were forced to address parts of themselves they may not have realized they were capable of before.
So maybe I had an inner action heroine inside of me, just waiting for the chance to, I don’t know, stab a gang member with a scalpel or something.
I was dubious, of course, but that didn’t stop me from carefully slipping off the table and sliding along the wall as far as my bound wrist would allow me, so I could just about reach the top drawer in the cabinet behind the exam table.
There was a keyhole on it, but I said a silent prayer that was immediately answered when it slid outward when I pulled it.
I wasn’t met by any scalpels or knives or anything that I could use to inflict a lot of damage.
No, instead, the only drawer I could pull open without possibly dislocating my shoulder was old paperwork and folders.
“Damnit damnit damnit,” I hissed, defeat bullying its way through my system as my fingers kept rifling through the paperwork.
Then there it was.
