Page 52 of When Lies Unfold

“You believe her?”

I don’t immediately answer Gordo. My eyes remain locked on the monitor feed from our interrogation room as I rock back in my desk chair.

I can’t pinpoint how I can tell, but I’d bet money Lola Arias is formulatin’ a plan of some sort as we speak.

My beer sits on the coaster, condensation clingin’ to the glass bottle. Runnin’ a finger through the moisture, I take my time answerin’. “Yes and no.”

With his attention on the monitor feed, his expression turns more speculative. It’s what has me posin’ my question. “You believe her?”

Sittin’ with one ankle crossed over his knee, he drums his fingers along the arm of his chair. He dangles his beer bottle from his other hand. “I believe her.” He lifts the beer to his lips and takes a drink.

I narrow my eyes ’cause I hear what he didn’t say. “But?”

Lowerin’ his beer, he grimaces. “I still say she’s hidin’ somethin’.” Brows pinched together, his eyes cut to mine. “You said she flinched that one time, thinkin’ you were gonna hit her?”

“Yeah.”

Tippin’ his bottle, he gestures to where Lola remains on the feed. “The men were impressed as hell by her, too. Sure as hell don’t know any other woman who’d hold up like she did, though.”

That she did. Hell, she even impressed me, yet again. She proved to have a spine of steel.

He holds my gaze for a moment before addin’, “And I’d bet money somebody abused her.”

Yeah. So would I.

At the muted sound of shufflin’ and slight gruntin’ noises, we turn back to the monitor. Lola’s attemptin’ to maneuver her body against the restraint banded beneath her breasts and keepin’ her tethered to the chair. Face contorted in pain, she slumps her body and works one shoulder beneath the restraint’s band.

I wince at how painful it looks, and when Gordo mutters, “Jesus,” beneath his breath, it’s clear he’s reactin’ similarly.

Sweat clings at her hairline, her exertion evident as she struggles to squeeze her body past the band. She grits her teeth against what I’m sure is serious chafin’ but manages to slip free.

With her zip-tied hands in front of her, she rests her elbows on her thighs, breathin’ heavily and grantin’ herself a moment of reprieve. Then she straightens and starts manipulatin’ the zip ties at her wrists. Gordo and I simultaneously lean in toward the monitor.

“No fuckin’ way.” Disbelief courses through me as I witness her reposition the lockin’ bar in the middle of her wrists. She grits her teeth as the plastic abrades her skin.

Bringin’ her wrists near her face, she uses her teeth like pliers to grab on to the end of the zip tie and pulls on it, cinchin’ them even tighter around her wrists.

When she extends her elbows away from her body much like a chicken, Gordo breathes out, “Holy shit. Ain’t no way she’s gonna?—”

His words cut off the instant she slams her wrists against her abdomen, and the zip tie breaks free. She grimaces and tenderly inspects her wrists as we watch in stunned silence.

“Think they taught that in jungle survival?” Gordo mumbles drily.

I don’t answer. Anyone can pull up a how-to video on the Internet, but to carry it out successfully is another thing entirely.

Now, I’m even more interested in what Lola will do next.

With more agility than I’d expect, she shuffles over on bound ankles to the door. After tryin’ the handle and findin’ it locked from the outside, she shuffles back to the metal chair.

Draggin’ it over to the far side of the wall that would grant her full vantage point of anyone enterin’ the room, she slides the chair against the corner wall. She expels a loud breath before lowerin’ herself to the floor beside the chair.

Even in the dark room, her eyes land on the small camera mounted in the far corner. With a hand grippin’ one leg of the chair, she slumps against the wall, tippin’ her head back along the hard surface. Attention still trained on the camera, she raises her hand and briefly holds up her middle finger.

My lips inadvertently tip upward, ’cause Lola Arias proves to be more intriguin’ by the second.

Droppin’ her hand at her side a moment later, she closes her eyes and goes incredibly still. If the faintest rise and fall of her chest didn’t indicate her breathin’, I’d wonder if she was dead.

“Who the fuck is this woman?” Gordo voices the question echoin’ in my mind.

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