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But just as the rope gives way, she dashes back, raises a gun, and points it at me.
She says a slew of coarse syllables, and I’m pretty sure she means for me to free myself.
Or at least I hope she does.
I twist, working the knot on my other wrist.
“You know, this would go faster if you’d give me the knife.”
More harsh syllables.
It takes me several minutes to free my other hand, and with its use, I quickly free my legs.
If I wanted, I could rush my captor before she had a chance to get a shot off. Or at least I would have been able to if my leg weren’t pierced.
Still, it wouldn’t be that hard to overcome her, especially if I play nice.
But this isn’t a honeypot I’m dealing with. It’s a woman with children, and as much as I might detest ankle biters, I’d hardly wish them harm. Quite the opposite.
With care, I swing my good leg over the side of the bed, then gently lower the other.
A startled cry escapes my mouth when I try to stand, which makes the woman take a step back.
Fuck, I want to punch her so badly. I know how that sounds, wanting to hit a woman, but with the way our introduction went, she’ll be lucky if that’s all I do.
Instead, I hobble over to the boy as she keeps her gun trained on me.
I have to believe she doesn’t want to kill me. She knocked Blake out but left him alive. There’s no reason to think she’ll want me dead, especially if I help her.
The little boy’s face is pinched, his lip jutting out in a pout. The poor kid’s in a lot of pain, and I’m not entirely sure I can help with that.
On the stand next to his bed, the medical supplies from my pack are scattered. She’d tried to treat the wound, but her knowledge fell short of what was needed.
I also see children’s books and the word ‘Korean’ written in the title. That explains what they’re speaking, not that it will help me understand them.
I take a seat, clean my hands with antiseptic, and start by ripping a large hole in my pants where I’m wounded. The woman yells at me, but I ignore her because I’m pretty sure she won’t kill me for tending to my injury.
The more I ignore her son, the more frantic she gets, which gives me an idea.
I work slow—real slow.Meticulously caring for my wound as I pay no attention to her whining child.
As predicted, she gets more angry, snapping harsh sounds at me, coming closer, closer, ever so close…
Dash-swipe-grab.
In three swift movements, the gun is in my hands. My leg hurts like hell, but at least I’m no longer in danger of getting shot.
The woman is paralyzed, her mouth gaping. I could do so many things right now. Horrible, angry, very bad things…
But this isn’t a woman that was looking for trouble. She was in trouble. She’s desperate, and seeing as how her son is wounded, I can hardly blame her.
“Look, I don’t want to shoot a momma in front of her kids,” I say, hoping my tone will convey my message, “but I can’t have you waving this at me.” I hold up the gun. “Now, I’ll look at your kid’s wound, but I’m not promising anything.”
Her son starts talking to her, probably because he’s terrified that I now have the gun.
He should be scared. There are a lot of assholes out in the world right now. He’s lucky I’m not one of them.
After a long minute, the woman raises her hands in surrender and takes a small step back. Then another.
