Page 158 of Snared Rider

My chest is agony, but I ignore it. I keep lifting and it takes some awkward manoeuvring but this time I manage to slip the rope off the hook at the end of the pulley.

My relief at being free is short-lived because without the support of the hook I fall. My legs find traction for a brief second as my feet hit concrete then they give out. I topple forward, throwing my bound hands out to stop from hitting the floor face first. My jeans protect the skin of my knees but do not cushion the blow. It takes everything I have to stop from crying out.

I allow myself a second to catch my breath, then glance at Wilson who is preoccupied with Dean.

Weapon.

I need a weapon.

I desperately search for something, anything I can use. The only thing I find is an old rusted piece of metal about the length of my forearm and just as wide. What it belonged to in a previous life, I don’t know. I don’t care either. I wrap my fingers around it, the hefty weight difficult to lift with my hands bound. But I’m fuelled now by adrenaline, so I manage to heave it off the floor.

I don’t think.

I don’t hesitate.

I lift it and then, as hard as I can, I swing it at the back of Simon Wilson’s head.

Unlike in the movies, he doesn’t black out instantly. This surprises me because I honestly thought he would go out like a light and I could rescue Dean.

Instead, he staggers from the blow and lets out an ungodly roar. I heft the metal to hit him again as he spins to face me. This time I hit him with a glancing blow that makes him go back a couple of steps before dropping to his knees.

Blood.

There’s a lot of blood on his face.

Don’t look. Don’t pass out.

I push through my dizziness and swing my weapon again.

This time I don’t connect because he reaches out and grabs the metal. I try to pull back, but his grip is solid for a man who has just been whacked about the head twice.

Shit, shit, shit!

My throat works as I try to get moisture into my mouth, but none comes. I grabble with him for the weapon but I can’t get it free of him either. His lips tip into a sneer than makes my blood run cold.

He’s going to kill me.

The look in his eyes tells me I’m not walking away from this.

He takes the metal from me with embarrassing ease and pushes up to his feet. I pant as I scrabble back from him, my heart in my throat.

I’m going to die. He is going to kill me.

He rushes me and I scream. I can’t help it. I know it is stupid but the sound erupts from my mouth before I can stop it.

I flinch, shielding myself as best I can, but he lurches to the side and goes down heavily.

It takes my befuddled mind a moment to realise why he’s down. It’s Dean. Dean kicked him in the back, and with enough force to topple him.

He sways viciously on the hook, but through the cascade of blood running down his face, he meets my gaze. His eyes are glass and unfocused but determined.

And for the second time, a man hisses at me, “Run!”

And I don’t hesitate, because if we have any chance of getting out of this, I need to get help.

So, I do as Dean commands.

I fucking run.

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