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The door screeches open, revealing Laurent's frame at the top of the stairs. The heavy metal door bangs against the wall. He's got an arm akimbo.
"This isn't the Ritz," he calls down at me. "All that matters is you stay alive for now. I don't give a fuck if you piss and shit yourself in the process."
He's markedly harsher than before.
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
Laurent takes heavy steps as he descends.
He's clearly different than earlier—the sophisticated air about him is gone. Instead, he just looks a mess. Rumpled shirt, messy hair. Had he been sleeping? How wonderful for him that he has the option to take a fucking nap.
As he nears me, I realize the other thing that's different too.
He's got a pistol held loosely in his left hand.
He didn't have that earlier.
I expected it, of course. But the fact that he's brought it down here, even though he just said he wants to keep me alive for now, has me wondering if this is a lapse of judgement on his part.
My mind whirs, trying to figure out how this new information can help me. Can I disarm him? Maybe not now, but what if I can when he takes me to use the bathroom? This might be my opportunity.
"I'm already suffering," I say. "Just please don't let me pee on myself like an animal." I try to look at him earnestly.
He comes closer still.
When he's a few paces away, the smell of him hits me. Cigar smoke and whiskey. It's so strong I wouldn't doubt he's downed close to an entire bottle. Is that why he looks so disheveled, because he's drunk?
That doesn't seem too smart when you're expecting company.
But this is it.
This is my chance.
Laurent squares me up, tapping the pistol on the side of his foot as he stares at me. His gaze is much softer than the harsh words falling from his mouth. My stomach tightens as I wait for him to make up his mind.
My whole plan hinges on him having some kind of empathy.
"Two minutes."
Yes!
"That's all I'm giving you."
It's all I'll need.
Laurent walks over to me after sliding the gun into the waistband of his suit pants. I'm tempted to lunge at him right then, but it would be no use. My limbs are filled with nervous energy as he starts to untie the ropes binding me to the chair.
I force myself to stay still.
Laurent isn't dumb. I'm sure it crossed his mind that I may use this as a chance to escape. So I'll need to catch him off guard, somehow.
I keep my hands at my sides while he undoes the ropes on my feet. He's prone before me, right next to my ankles. I'm staring right at my opportunity.
I'm still wearing my shoes.
They are thick, chunky platform stilettos—a compromise since Alexander didn't want me wearing heels. These put less pressure on my feet than pumps. But now, the weight of them will come in handy.
Laurent undoes the last knot of the ropes, and there’s the urge to strike. But a millisecond before I kick him in the face, reality hits me.
