Page 133 of Jagged Souls

I want to help her.

But I’m just so fucking helpless.

Thirty-Eight

HER

I wake up to one of the men screaming in pain, and hope spikes in my chest at the thought of Varius or Dayne having come for me. I lift my head, trying desperately to open my eyes and see what’s happening before my brain catches up to me and tells me I can’t. Agony burns through me but so does my old fire – that spark I thought I lost forever.

My lips trembling, I clench my teeth and force myself to breathe.

It’s about to be over.

I’m going to go home, where I’ll spend a hel of a time fighting to overcome my trauma.

But I’m going home.

All my training kicks into gear, and I move on instinct, a mindless machine as I scoot up the bed. I might be blind and tied up, but I refuse to be helpless in my rescue, so the first step is getting out of my binds.

My hands are tied up with witches’ snares, thin magical chains that only Bear can remove (him being the one who put them on), but if I can break the slats of the headboard I’m tied to – as long as it’s not metal, then it doesn’t matter if they’re still dangling on my wrist.

I exhale sharply in relief at the feel of wood beneath my palm. Then I twist onto my stomach, sit up, and scoot as far down the bed as the chains will let me. Leaning back, I place my right foot on one of the slats I’m tied to, then inch my way up to the middle of it. It’ll break easier in the center rather than at an end.

Imagining the scene in my head, envisioning where I need to strike, I bring my knee to my chest. Then I snap it forward, kicking as if I’m trying to reach the wall behind. My heel slams into the wood as screams of pain echo from somewhere on the boat.

I wish I could see Dayne’s face as he bursts into here to save me, only to find me already free.

A small grin curls at a corner of my lips as the slat cracks clean through. The splinters dig into my foot, but I don’t care.

I just want to get out of here.

I want to go home.

It’s almost over.

I search for the other slat I need to break with my left foot, then I bring my knee to my chest. I kick out, breaking free, and I quickly lean forward to tug the other ends of the witches’ snares over the splintered pieces.

I crawl off the bed, my bleeding feet protesting when they’re forced to take my weight, but I shove the pain down. I need to find a weapon. I need to cut out the monster inside of me.

No.

No, focus, Micha.

Escape first.

Then abort.

The door opens, and I tense, trying to figure out if it’s one of the wolves or Antonio himself or if it’s Varius come to save me. There’s no more screams coming from the hall.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sunny mutters, and I lunge for the bedside table, hoping it is small enough to lift; I only know it’s there because I’ve heard the clinking of things being put down on it.

My hands scramble to find the edges, but he tackles me before I can even try to wield it. We fall onto the bed, me on my stomach, him behind me, and I instinctively shout for Varius.

“He’s not here!” he hisses as he turns me over, forcing me onto my back.

“Da–”

I sputter as a large vial of V is poured down my throat. As much as I wanted it not too long ago, I try to spit it out now. With my rescue imminent, I don’t need to turn to it to stop the pain. I’ll cut out thethingmyself.