Page 48 of Trapped (Sheppard & Sons Investigations #6)
Ashley
A l’s expression when he turned to me was so vicious that I pulled away. At least I tried, but I couldn’t move anything except my head because I was tied to a chair with a bomb under my ass.
“Your boyfriend decided to be a knight in shining armor, after all.”
I never doubted it.
Al issued orders, and his remaining men left. From what I could tell, they wanted to stop SSI—everyone except Nathan—from getting to the cabin.
My hands turned white and cramps set in as I gripped the arms of my throne, as Al continued to call it.
“You think he’ll behave to save you?”
“Does it matter? You’ll kill me no matter what he does.”
“True, but it’d be a shame to kill you before getting my revenge.”
“It’d be a shame for you to kill me at all.” I barely recognized my voice as I replied.
“You’re right. I’d love to give my boys a shot at that sexy body. I bet you’re a tiger in bed.” His eyes roamed my body and settled on my hands, still gripping the arms for dear life.
I tried relaxing my hands, but they were so tense and my grip so tight, I couldn’t. There was no way for me to hide my fear; it was obvious in my grip, my sweat, my high-pitched voice.
If I’m going to die, there’s no point in playing nice. “I hope I get to see you die.”
He laughed. Not the response I expected . “If I die, you die.”
My eyes widened. How?
He answered my unasked question. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have a back-up plan?”
“You mean other than the bomb I’m sitting on?” I clung to the hope that the guys could free me without setting it off.
“I suspect things won’t go the way I want, so I may not have the pleasure of seeing his face when I kill you. But I can live with that.” Al looked at the door. How had I not noticed the wires and explosives?
“You’re trapped in here. One way or another, I’ll have my revenge.”
My stomach sank. There was no way I’d survive this, and worse, my friends wouldn’t survive either. How do I warn them that the door is booby-trapped?
Bravery, even the facade of it, faded as fear consumed me. I had nothing left to say. Even thinking was hard as my impending doom occupied every brain cell.
My stupid, creative brain easily imagined seeing the door explode and watching everyone die a painful, violent death.
Would anyone survive long enough to free me? Would I starve to death tied to a bomb chair? Would crying non-stop hasten my death because of dehydration?
Could I find the courage to get off the chair and end my suffering? If I found the courage, would I be able to break the ties?