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I chant it over and over under my breath, willing myself to do it. I end up thinking about the words I’m saying and not actually thinking of a way out.
“Quit muttering,” the guy beside me says, another growl.
I tense up. I don’t know if more hits are coming. But he doesn’t touch me.
Think, think, think.I say it in my mind this time. Still not working.
No one is saying anything, not even in Italian. Not that I know any of that. The minutes pass like hours and seconds at the same time. It takes forever to get to where we are going, but then we are there all too soon. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have anything.
We pull to a stop, and I shift myself sideways. I hear the front doors open, and words are exchanged before they are shut. The guy beside me moves, opening his own door and then closing it. I’m alone. I reach up with my bound hands to pull my blindfold down. I look around. I can’t see much in the darkness, but I lean back, supporting myself on my elbows. I pull my knees up and wait.
When the guy opens my door, I kick straight out, catching him in the chest, and then I’m out, running. Thank God my thigh slit is torn, causing me not to have to struggle against the satin skirt of my dress. It’s fucking hard to run with bound hands though. It throws off my sense of balance, and I stumble over myself a few times.
I can’t fall. It would take me precious seconds to get back up. I don’t look back. I can’t afford the shift in momentum. I finally look around at where I am. On a runway at an airstrip. There is a plane, waiting with the door open to escort us to wherever we are going. My bet is back to Chicago. Where he can turn me over to his goons and they can do whatever with me.
No fucking thank you.
The soles of my feet bark with pain as I run over rocks and who knows what else. Men are shouting behind me. I know they’ve spotted me. If only my hands weren’t tied together, I could do this a lot quicker. I run for the edge of the runway, launching myself into the grass, and head toward a fence that separates the airstrip from whatever other land is out there.
I need to get over the fence. I don’t know that it will keep me safe, but it’s one more barrier between me and them. I’m winded, and my chest aches.
The panic tells me,Hurry, hurry, fucking hurry, Wryn.
I stub my toe on something and cry out without thinking about it. Flashlights land on me, followed by more yelling.
“She’s over here!”
“Come on!”
“Get your asses moving and take her down. She’s only a girl.”
I let them yell. I focus on the fence. It’s a hundred yards away. But it might as well be a mile. My skirt tangles around my legs, and I go down hard.
“Oof.”
I blink, trying to orient myself. I didn’t catch my body well, landing on my left shoulder. I roll to my right and try to get my knees under me while pushing up onto my elbow.
“Damn dress.” It’s still tangled around my legs, and I hear it rip again. “Good.” I talk myself through it.
Footsteps are pounding on the pavement, then go silent. They’ve entered the grass. They are right behind me. I’m a sitting duck.
With a superhuman push, I’m up again on my feet; they’re no doubt sliced open and bloody, but I don’t stop to check. Adrenaline keeps pushing me on, keeping the pain at bay. Even my shoulder is a distant memory at this point.
I’m fifty yards away now.
My nostrils are flaring, and my hair is a wreck, tendrils blowing into my eyes. I don’t have time to remove them.
I’m twenty-five feet from the fence now. The end is in sight.
I survey the fence, realizing that it has coiled wire on top of it, like a prison. My heart sinks.
I’m going to have to do it. It’s pain in exchange for freedom.
You’ve got to climb it with your hands tied first, my brain reminds me.
Is everyone working against me?
I open my mouth and suck in a long breath, then close it, biting down on my tongue on accident. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, and I grimace, then spit.
