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Four arms reached out, each grabbing an arm and a leg, lifting me the way you might truss an animal to roast over a spit, face downward, held aloft between all four men.
I wondered if it was a humiliation tactic, or if they did it so I couldn’t see much. Because no matter how I tried to strain my neck, all I could see were cinder block walls and cement floors.
It was colder this far underground, and I felt a shiver move through me as a door groaned, as I was tossed inside, landing hard on the side of my face and chest, knocking the wind out of me.
I heard the shuffle of feet, then the groan of the door again.
Alone.
Thank God.
Trying to suck in a breath, I tossed my weight, rolling onto my side ignoring the pain in my shoulder, and looking around at my accommodations.
It was actually a slight improvement to the last cell.
It had the same toilet with a sink on top, a chair bolted to the floor, but there was also a small cot. If we could call it that. Again, it reminded me a lot of a prison cell in that it was a long, unmovable board with a large beach towel on top of it.
The bright, happy yellow, blue, and red umbrella pattern was in stark contrast to the otherwise dreary space.
There weren’t any obvious items that could be used to forget a weapon.
I inch-wormed my way across the room, pressing the zip tie between my ankles against the leg of the makeshift bed, rubbing and rubbing as the plastic bit into my skin, making it break and bleed before, finally, the tie gave.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I scrambled up to do the same to my wrists, finding it harder to ignore the pain and blood when I was staring right down at it.
The pain would motivate me, I told myself, as the plastic snapped, and my wrists were free.
Reaching up, I pulled off the duct tape, then gathered the ties and tape, and sat down on the bed, taking stock of what I had to work with.
Could duct tape be rubbed into something sharp? Maybe. But I doubted it would be sharp enough. The zip ties were useless from what I could tell, but I stashed them away under the towel just in case I could figure something else out.
Given enough time, I bet I could find a way to pry off some small piece of metal from the chair or the toilet/sink combo.
I didn’t want to have that much time down here, though.
A water bottle would be useless when they brought it. And the food was always on a plastic tray they took right back out. They would notice if I took a chunk out of one to file into a shiv.
But I had, for the time being, my belt and belt buckle.
Reaching down, I pulled that off, knowing Cain Roth wouldn’t be as careless as his men were.
I carefully tucked it into the band of my bra, remembering I had some thin wire in the cups there too.
Not great, but something.
The arm holes could also work as a way to choke someone out.
But that would require a lot more strength than I thought I would have against much larger men.
No laces on my shoes.
No rings to help make a punch hurt more.
My nose ring was useless.
My necklace was the only other thing I had.
The one Morgaine had given me.
I’d been so touched by the gift that I’d done exactly as she requested. I wore it all the time, except when I was showering.
To keep you safe.
That was what she’d said.
I’d initially taken it just as a sweet token. Some sort of gemstones meant to have protective qualities.
Because she’d come off as a bit of a hippie.
And, sure, that was partially true.
But that wasn’t all Morgaine was.
Morgaine was a poison expert.
She was not a woman who would rely on gemstones to protect her.
No.
She was a woman of serums and elixirs and, yes, tablets.
Tablets.
My hand went to my throat, fingers moving over the beads spanning the length of the necklace.
Every last one of them was smooth.
Save for one.
Pulling off the necklace, I inspected the stones.
Sure enough, all the others were shiny, polished. Normal gemstones in various colors. Even one of the other white ones.
Except for one, situated at the side of the necklace. It wasn’t shiny. Nor smooth. If anything, when I ran a finger over it, it felt more like a pill than a stone. Kind of pressed, but would be chalky if you ran a nail across it.
And I knew. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever this ‘stone’ was, it was meant to inflict harm. The kind that many of Morgaine’s targets had never recovered from.
She’d given me poison to keep myself safe.
