Page 109 of Vicious Heir

I look around the warehouse, searching for anything I can use. The chair is bolted down. There are no sharp edges within reach. Nothing I can leverage against the restraints.

But there has to be a way. There's always a way.

The zip ties are tight, but they're just plastic. Strong plastic, but plastic nonetheless. If I could find something to cut through them?—

I feel the edge of the chair. It’s old and rusty. If I could saw it back and forth, maybe?—

I start working immediately, moving the zip tie back and forth against the edge of the metal leg. The angle is awkward, and my shoulders scream in protest, but I don't stop. I can’t.

Minutes pass. The plastic doesn't seem to be weakening at all.

I keep going.

More minutes. My arms are shaking with fatigue, my wrists bleeding now. I can feel it trickling hotly down my fingers. But I think—maybe—the plastic is starting to thin. Just slightly.

I work faster, putting everything I have into the motion. Back and forth, back and forth, until my muscles are on fire and I'm gasping with exertion.

And then?—

Snap.

The zip tie breaks.

My hands are free.

I lean down and work on my ankles next. These are easier—I can see what I'm doing, and I can use both hands. Within a minute, I'm standing.

For a moment, I just sway there, blood rushing back into my limbs, pins and needles shooting through my feet. I see my gun and knife, tossed on a table at the far end of the room. I grab them immediately, arming myself as I move slowly toward the door to the room, watching for any guards.

There’s no one in the hall. I creep down it, hearing voices at the far end. Inch by inch, I make my way toward the back of the warehouse, where there should be a service door. I press myself against walls, walk as softly as I can, my breath coming in small puffs. My heart is beating so hard I’m worried someone will be able to hear it.

When I reach the service door, I hear footsteps outside. Slowly, wincing, I ease the door open. I wait until the guard walks past.

And then I slip out, silent as I can, and grab the guard around the throat.

I don’t have any intention of killing him. This isn’t his fault; he’s just doing his fucking job. I apply pressure until I feel him go limp, then drag him to the edge of the warehouse, tucking him up against it before I slip into the shadows again, moving down the docks until I can get far enough away to make my next move.

I need to find a phone. Need to call Diego. He wasn’t supposed to be at the penthouse, so he should still be alive. If I can rendezvous with him, we can make a plan to go after Annie.

I’m not leaving this to Ronan. She might be his sister, but she’s my wife.

She’s the mother of my child.

And I’m going to get her back.

28

ANNIE

I'm in the middle of counting the bricks on one wall when I hear the sound of voices upstairs, and movement coming toward the staircase that leads down here.

Something's happening.

I straighten in the chair as much as I can with my wrists and ankles bound, straining to hear. The voices are muffled, but there are definitely more people in the house than there were before.

Has Desmond brought more men? Or is this?—

Hope flares in my chest, dangerous and desperate, mingled with an icy terror.