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My scream tapered off and I sucked in a deep breath, filling my greedy lungs. I had to compose myself, to make a plan to get the fuck out of here. Because I wasn’t the same woman who was stuck by that door merely a few feet from where I now sat. That woman had been a shadow of who I truly was, a mask meant to keep me safe until I could get away. And this would be my last escape, because after this it was my turn to stack the deck, my turn to make the rules of the game.
I took inventory of anything I could use that was around me. But of course the living room was still spotless, completely devoid of the knick-knacks that would betray that someone actually lived here and it wasn’t just straight from a magazine.
I tugged on the ropes binding me, attempting to work out how exactly they’d been bound. Each wrist was tied meticulously to the two wooden posts, and the rope stretched between them joining them together. The back of the chair was mounted into the seat by those two wooden posts that my hands were tied to and smaller wooden slats ran between them.
What Mike didn’t know when he chose this chair, is that I had to put it together. Tommaso had ordered everything to be delivered to the new house and once he’d seen that some parts needed to be assembled, he left it for the workers to do, saying he had a business call and took off upstairs so he wouldn’t have to do anything—but I did. The workers already had enough to do with moving everything in so I offered to help. Really it wasn’t hard, the back had to be inserted into the seat, there was supposed to be glue that went around it too, but I’d been so pissed off I just shoved them in there, hoping that one day someone would lean back and they’d fall, ruining the perfect image that Tommaso tried to portray. But now it looked like that simple act of petty revenge was working in my favor.
My fingers wrapped around the wooden anchors and slowly began wiggling them, careful not to make too much noise. The pieces started to loosen, groaning as they eased out of the setting. They were in there pretty securely, but not putting that glue had saved me, otherwise there wouldn’t be any way I’d be getting untied without drawing his attention.
With one final tug the back popped out, and I tightened my grip, not wanting it to fall backward onto the hardwood floor. I lowered it gently until it slid the final few inches. I held my breath, keeping my body completely still as I glanced over to the kitchen. Mike hadn’t noticed a thing, clearly too engrossed in the contents of the commercial-sized stainless-steel fridge to hear the quiet sound.
Confident he wasn’t about to catch me, I tested my weight on my feet, not wanting to tumble sideways when I actually stood up. I only had one chance at this, so I had to make it count. Thankfully it seemed like the effects of whatever he’d given me had worn off completely since my bare feet held firm, apparently having lost my heels at some point along the way.
I lifted onto my feet a bit more, making sure to keep my head tucked low, and slid the rope under me and behind my knees. Using the seat, I pulled my legs through the loop the rope created with my arms, one at a time, until my hands were able to rest in my lap.
Sighing in relief, I tested my hands and mobility, needing to know exactly what I could manage. With my hands around the front, I could do a lot more but I was still restrained. My eyes lit up as I looked at the rope, knowing exactly what I could do with it.
I took one last look at the door, making sure no one else was about to come, before I made my move. This would only work if I could move silently, and someone coming in behind me and giving me away would not turn out well.
Sliding silently from the chair, I tested my full weight on my feet, grateful when my footsteps were silent on the marble floor. I moved stealthily down the hall, only stilling as the fridge door closed. Stepping back behind the wall, I waited as his footsteps echoed on the marble floor to see if he would return, but the clatter of utensils sounded a moment later, signaling he wasn’t done yet. I peeked around the wall tentatively as he pulled a loaf of bread from the drawer and went about slathering on a heap of mayo.
Taking that as a sign to continue, I glided toward him, my breaths stilling as I got closer. Three—two—one, I counted in my head as I closed the distance, my hands raising in preparation. I was tall, but he still had almost a foot on me—I could make it, but I only had one chance. So I made sure I struck fast and true, my knee striking the back of his leg swiftly, and he buckled just enough for me to bring my arms up and around his neck. He let out a startled yelp as I pulled my arms back, the metallic clang of the knife he’d held clattering to the granite countertop. Not hesitating, I jammed my knee into the center of his back to add tension as I used all my strength to cut off his airway.
Redness bloomed in his face as I pressed harder, his lips parting in a sputtered gasp as his hand scrabbled for purchase on the thick rope—the one he had tied around my wrists just hours before. He’d signed his own death warrant as soon as he’d given me that drink. He’d given up whatever life he had when he attempted to take mine away from me, depositing me back into Tommaso’s clutches.
One of his hands dropped away from his throat, while the other clawed against his skin, raking desperately and drawing blood with each scratch of his nails. My eyes focused on that blood beading there, nearly missing the sunlight glinting off the steel of the counter.
A muttered curse slipped from my lips as his other hand closed around the knife handle, needing to make a split-second decision. My stomach dropped as he used his last ounce of strength to jab the point back at me—but I was already gone.
I leapt out of the way, begrudgingly lifting the rope away from his neck in an effort to put space between us. I was so close, I could see the life draining from him, but, I’d barely gotten out of the way in time.
He pulled in a long wheezing breath and swung the knife back wildly behind him, ensuring I didn’t move back in.
“You—fucking—bitch,” he seethed between frantic gasps of air. “I’m going to slit that pretty little throat of yours.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I said on a derisive snort, my mind flying through what move to make next. Anger was the best fuse I had to throw him off his game. I had to make him attack before he fully recovered.
“What sort of muscle are you? You let a woman half your size sneak up on you while you were stuffing your face,” I huffed out on a mocking laugh.
“You little bitch,” he growled, stumbling toward me. But my eyes were trained on the knife he still held clutched in his meaty palm. I pulled in a sharp breath and waited as he stormed toward me, his steps seemingly progressing in slow motion.
His hand came up to his shoulder, a sickening laugh booming from his wide chest, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the chef’s knife plunging toward me. My hands snapped out as soon as he got close enough, a hand on either side of his wrist and I snapped them inward, watching the blade clattering to the marble floor and sliding under the kitchen table.
A roar of outrage bellowed from his mouth, and I darted to the side before he had a chance to regain his composure.
“Sorry, who’s the little bitch?” I asked coyly, my foot connecting with the side of his knee. His leg buckled beneath him as a cry of pain pierced through the room, my teeth gritting against the sharp scream. I chanced a glance toward the front door, not wanting anyone else to hear him. I’d be stupid to think he was the only one here and there weren’t guards stationed along the outside. But I didn’t let the tendrils of fear creep in over how I’d eventually get past them, not yet.
But just as I looked, gunfire erupted beyond the front door. I cursed and leapt under the table, the muttered words barely audible over Mike screeching in agony. I held my breath for a moment as the pops of crossfire sounded outside—outside, but they weren’t directed inward …
Hope flared in my chest. The guys must be here, they came to help me escape again, but that also put them in danger. They didn’t have the added security of the bombs that had been planted at the party—this time it was one on one, and that scared the shit out of me.
I had to get out of here, I had to get past this idiot and get to my guys. I wasn’t some damsel in distress, I could fight this asshole, and I’d watch his blood spill onto my hands. I glanced down at the floor about to crawl back out when the gleaming metal caught my eye about a foot away. Leaning forward, my finger clasped the edge of the handle, but before I could grasp it completely a massive hand clamped around my ankle.
Desperately I lunged forward, needing to catch more of the handle. My fingers just closed around it, securing it in my grip when he tugged. I jolted backward, and kicked out with my free leg, frantically trying to find purchase as I turned the knife toward me and sawed at the rope.
Thank fuck we never cooked, I thought to myself as the knife cut through the braided rope easily, but it was slow, too slow as he yanked me out from beneath the table. I kicked out at him again, my foot finally finding purchase.
A rumbled curse burst from him as I made contact with his knee again, his hold on my ankle slipping slightly. I used that moment to make one final slash with the knife, cutting completely through the binds.
