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Swallowing, I could still feel the sting where the knife had kissed against my throat, Javier’s unsteady hand leaving what I imagined to be a few shallow cuts as he’d directed me across the city and toward Mott Haven. I’d never actually been to the neighborhood—my time in New York having been mostly spent in and around Queens—but found it easily enough with his instruction.
I’d tried to get him to talk on the way, to tell me something about what the hell he wanted and why he was still harassing Ricki, but all the moron kept saying, over and over, was she’d pay for disrespecting him.
I’d been dying to choke the words right out of his mouth, but with his knife to my throat, I hadn’t wanted to risk it. The guy was clearly unhinged, and as much as my instincts told me to kick the ever lovin’ shit out of him, my brain reminded me that a person in his state wasn’t predictable, and that my best option would be to wait for a better opportunity.
Joke was on me, though, because as soon as Javier had instructed me to park the truck, he’d whacked me right in the temple with the butt end of the knife, leaving me seeing stars. I’d stumbled out of the truck, dizzy and disoriented, and before I’d even had a chance to face him, the stupid fuck had landed a cheap shot right to my face, and I’d gone out like a light.
It was pathetic, really.
Pissed me the fuck off, too.
So now, here I sat, alone in the dark, tied to a chair, wondering where the hell he was and if Ricki was safe.
I had no idea how much time had passed, but if he’d left me here and gone back for her...
No, I wouldn’t think like that. Icouldn’tthink like that.
My entire focus had to be on getting the hell out of this mess, and that meant I had to keep my cool.
Shifting on my seat, I tried to feel for a weak spot, somewhere I could yank or tug either the chair or the stupid zip ties that were securing me in place, but it was useless.
“Fuck,” I breathed, looking around for something to help me get the hell outta here. I needed to get back to Ricki, to make sure she was safe and that Javier couldn’t get anywhere near her.
I didn’t care how pissed she got at me; she could yell at me all she wanted as long as she was out of harm’s way.
As I did a second visual sweep of the room, my eyes snagged on the kitchen cupboards. Surely there had to be a knife or something in one of those drawers, right?
“Worth a shot,” I muttered to myself, wrapping my fingers around the seat of the chair, my wrists bound to either chair leg making the grip difficult, but not impossible. I stood and began an awkward, bent over shuffle, my body still folded in half and the chair resting on my back as I inched my way across the room. When I reached the kitchen part of the room, I turned, releasing my grip on the seat with one hand and feeling blindly for the handle of one of the two drawers. It was a complicated position, trying to stand upright enough that I could reach the drawer handle as well as to the side enough that the legs of the chair weren’t colliding with the cupboard and keeping me from reaching anything important at all.
When I had one handle in my precarious grip, I stepped forward, moving my body—chair and all—away from the cupboards and pulling the drawer slowly open.
“Thank fuck.”
Once the drawer was opened, I had to rest, my head spinning enough that if I didn’t sit, I would have fallen down. Planting the chair legs back on the floor, I took a few deep breaths, waiting for the need to puke to go away. Once I was sure I wasn’t about to spill my guts all over myself, I gripped the chair again and went to look in the drawer.
“Son of a bitch,” I snarled, staring down at a drawer full of ketchup packets, chopsticks, and napkins from every takeout place imaginable.
Cracking my neck from side to side, I tried to relieve some of the tension in my shoulders before turning around and attempting to grasp the handle of the second drawer. It took a little longer this time, mostly because I was tired as fuck and my fingers were going numb because I was straining my wrists against the zip ties.
Eventually I got it open, leaning over the drawer to see about twelve spoons, three forks, a butter knife and a can opener.
“You have got to be kidding me. What do I have to do to get a goddamn knife in this place?”
“The fuck you need a knife for, man?” came a voice I was very tired of hearing. “If you wanted to die, all you had to do was ask.”
Turning slowly—not letting him think he had even a modicum of power over my reaction—I faced Javier where he leaned against the doorway, his skinny frame blocking out what little light managed to seep into the room.
“Why am I here?”
Letting out a greasy chuckle, Javier shook his head.
“You’ve been asleep for over a day, and that’s the first thing you ask me?” Javier smiled evilly, but then continued. “You’re here because I want you to be here.” Holding up one of his hands, I could see the knife clutched in his fist. The same knife he had used in my truck when he forced me to drive him here.
Wherever here actually was.
“You want to tell me what you want? I’ve got money, if that’s what you’re looking for. I’ll have to make a call, but I can get you whatever you need.”
In a flash, Javier was across the room, the knife held before him as he stomped toward me.
