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71
That was the way the hours passed. Me lying in bed, either dozing or thinking of Connor, Johnny, Sebastian, and Eve. My unseen guards shoving sandwiches under my door. Me banging and yelling at them, then eating the sandwich and ultimately retreating in frustration to my bed, where I would think about my fiancé and my friends and sleep fitfully until the next sandwich arrived.
I don’t know how many hours passed like that. More than ten, but beyond that it was hard to know. Twenty-four? Forty-eight? Or even more?
I had grown so used to the cycle of sandwich-yell-sleep that when I finally heard locks and latches clacking, I was in disbelief. I sat up on my bed and watched as the door opened, then squinted against the full light from the hallway.
Armin stood there, dressed in black fatigues and holding a pair of handcuffs.
“Alright, let’s go. Stand up and put your hands behind your back.”
I stared at him. Until that moment, I thought that I never could have hated another human being as much as I hated Miranda – but Armin was running a very close second.
“You traitor,” I seethed.
He walked towards me threateningly. “Get up.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He forcibly yanked me up by my arm. I started to struggle – in fact, I was about to go for his eyes with my fingernails – when he flipped me around and got me in a chokehold, his forearm under my chin and pressed tight against my windpipe.
As I struggled to breathe, he whispered, “We can do this easy, or we can do it hard. Personally, hard is fine by me, bitch.”
I figured there was no way I was going to win against a former Special Forces soldier, so I just nodded and let him put the cuffs on me.
But I swore to myself that once Miranda paid, Armin was next in line.
I just hoped I got the chance to make good on my promise.
