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They might not investigate screaming, but they might wonder what I’m throwing around in here.
I lower it back to the frame and continue to shave it. After all, what else do I have to do?
A while later, I’m still freezing, and my stomach is growling. An hour or two must have passed, but I don’t know for sure since I have no concept of time in this room. I don’t know if it’s day or night. I don’t know fucking anything.
I stand on achy legs and stretch my body, arms up, neck cracking side to side, and then I sink back onto the bed.
I’m getting nowhere with the metal. And I’m hungry. And thirsty. I grimace at the sink, not really wanting to drink from it but I might not have a choice. I don’t think I’ve eaten or drunk anything since the gala, and I don’t even know how long ago that was.
I walk over to the sink and turn the handle, watching the water sputter for a moment before it turns into a stream. It looks clear. I cup my hand under it and then bring it to my mouth.
I want to guzzle it, but I figure that might make me sick, so I take my time. As I’m sipping, I hear something behind me. I shut the water off and turn as the door finally opens.
A man is standing there—a guard. I watch as his eyes lazily trail up and down my body, and then he smirks at me.
“I do like my women wet,” he says, and my top lip curls in revulsion.
I wipe the water from my chin and dry my hands on my scrap of dress. I want to glance over at the bed, where I left the metal bar, but I don’t want to draw his attention. I stand quietly, waiting to see what he’s going to do. The open door calls to me, and I’m itching to run to freedom, but I need to be careful. I don’t know how many people are here.
I glance down at the tray he’s holding in his hands. It has a plate of something unidentifiable and a glass of water.
“That for me?” I ask.
He grins at me again. “What will you give me for it?”
Pig.
I stare at him again.
He chuckles. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Original,” I say before thinking better of it.
His face turns from jovial to irate in a split second, and I cower back. He slams the tray down on the bed, the glass of water tipping over, running over the short edges and soaking the mattress. He doesn’t try to pick it up.
Instead, he stalks toward me, his cheeks turning a mottled red. He’s a hothead, and I can use that to my advantage. I would prefer this to someone who is calculated and not easily rattled.
I try to call up everything Connor told me during our training sessions.Duck down, make myself small, incapacitate as quickly as possible, go for the pressure points, and when in doubt, a hit to the balls will drop them.
I make myself freeze, a look of feminine terror on my face, and let him think he’s got me. He gets close—so close—before I make my move. He goes to grab my arms to pin me against the wall. I drop suddenly, punch up into his scrotum, and then dart around him as he drops to the ground.
I stare at him for a moment.
Was it really that easy?
I rush to the mattress and grab my metal stick as I make my way out of here. My heart is pounding in my chest, my palms are sweaty, and a trickle of sweat lazily treks down my back.
I quickly walk out of the door and shut it behind me, twisting the lock, ensuring the guy can’t follow. I’m at the end of a short hallway. There’s an open door down one end that leads somewhere, so I start that way, keeping my footsteps quiet. I can see I’m in a small house of some sort. Not well kept. There’s a TV on somewhere, tuned to a sports channel. I can hear the announcers talking about scores.
I plaster myself to the wall as I get closer to the end of the hallway and slowly peek my head around the doorframe. There’s another short hallway. A few open doorways dot it, and at the end is the front door. It’s closed, but I can see blue sky from the tiny windows in it. I only need to make it there. I can’t get to any windows without going into rooms, and I can’t be sure there aren’t people in them.
I turn the corner, holding my breath. The TV is getting louder. I come to the first open door and slowly peek with one eye. No one is in there. I move across it, flattening myself to the wall. I get to the second and look. The TV is in this one, and there’s a guy watching, his feet up on a box in front of him. He’s twirling a gun around absentmindedly.
He chuckles at something the announcer said.
“Frank!” he suddenly yells, making me jump.
I jerk my head back and close my eyes, although I don’t know how that’s going to help.
