Page 35 of Courting Danger

Drugged maybe.

That would explain a few things, though it also raised a lot more questions.

I wasn’t sure if it was the drugs, or just the expectation that something like this would happen to me some day, but I felt surprisingly calm.

Too calm.

I was probably in shock, but even that thought didn’t inspire more than passing interest. My thoughts were like a checklist running through my head.

Necessary steps for escape: number one, find a way to untie myself.

The back of the van was completely empty, and I’d been stripped of my weapons.

Unless...

Curling my spine as far as it would go, I managed to catch a glimpse of my own waist. They hadn’t removed my belt. There was a hidden blade inside the buckle that I could use to free myself.

Unfortunately, my hands were tied behind my back, while the buckle was in front. When I was younger, I could have passed my hands around my feet to bring them in front. It was my favorite trick to pull whenever my father insisted on training me for these kinds of situations. However, I hadn’t been that limber since puberty. If I tried now, I’d just end up dislocating my shoulders and I still wouldn’t be free.

I arched my back to raise my head again, getting a better look at my surroundings. It was some sort of industrial van. Whoever was driving sat in a separate compartment up front. The back was meant for transporting goods and equipment, so it lacked seats and upholstery like a typical vehicle. This meant the metal structure lay completely exposed.

I squirmed over the floor until I found a spot in the van where two pieces of metal had been joined. A row of large bolts stuck up from the flat surface. I aligned my belt buckle with one of these bolts and used the edge to try and coax the hidden knife free.

It felt like I was humping the floor. If anyone saw me right now, they would probably die of laughter.

My spinning vision didn’t help, either. I kept misjudging the alignment or moving too quickly and my buckle would slip free from the bolt with a ring of metal against metal. Each time that happened, I’d lie still for a moment to make sure I hadn’t been noticed.

Luckily, whoever was driving the van wasn’t paying me any attention. No one ever checked on me, not even when the van took a hard turn and I went rolling into the far wall.

Finally, with a thrill of victory, I managed to pull the hidden knife free from my buckle. It was only about two inches long and roughly shaped like an arrowhead, but the edge was sharp and would cut through the ropes binding me.

If only I could get it into my hands.

That required more squirming as I tried to position my hands where I thought the knife lay. Then, when my fingers touched nothing but cold floor, I scooted over an inch and tried again.

I found the knife by slicing my finger on the tip, but I didn’t care about the pain. It was barely more than a paper cut, and I finally had the weapon in my hand.

Closing my eyes, I counted my breaths and got to work sawing at the ropes. They were thick and the knife was small, but one by one, I felt the fibers snap.

The rumbling vibrations beneath me fell silent.

The car had come to a stop. It was too late. We’d arrived wherever my kidnappers were taking me, and my hands were still bound.

I had a choice to make. Try to free myself before anyone came for me, or pretend to be unconscious. If it was just my hands, I might have tried to escape, but my feet were bound too. I’d never cut through both in time.

Voices spoke just outside the van doors, arguing about something.

I made my decision and slumped over on the floor. I palmed the knife and gripped the rope around my wrists to hide the cut section.

The doors opened, and despite how much I wanted to see the identities of my kidnappers, I kept my eyes closed.

“We sure this is a good idea?” one of the kidnappers asked as they jumped up into the van beside me.

“These are the orders. Come on. Get his head.”

At least two sets of hands grabbed me. Possibly three. I remained limp as a ragdoll, letting my head loll about on my shoulders.

They carried me for a while before throwing me unceremoniously to the ground. My head cracked against the concrete floor and stars danced behind my eyes. It almost distracted me from the pain of my secret knife stabbing into my palm. My first instinct was to let go, but I held on to the blade and prayed my kidnappers wouldn’t notice the blood.

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