Page 4 of Caesar DeLuca
Meanwhile, water pools inside the wooden box. Soon I’ll be submerged in it.
Every second counts.
I forget about trying to bust the lid open—at least for now—and focus on my bound wrists. The zip ties are already tight enough to bite into my skin and leave marks. What would happen if I pulled them even tighter?
In a move that at first feels counterintuitive, I catch the loose end of the plastic tie between my teeth and pull hard. I keep tugging ’til the zip tie tightens all the way around my wrists, leaving no space, and increasing the tension on the plastic binds.
As the water rises almost to the point of drowning me completely, I summon every ounce of strength I have left. I begin pulling my wrists apart in an attempt to muscle my way out.
The strain proves to be too much. The zip tie busts open, snapping apart as if it’s been cut by a pair of scissors.
My hands finally free, I immediately focus on my next task—returning to the lid to force it open. I don’t let up, banging and kicking at it like crazy as water pours over me. I prepare myself to take a deep breath despite my failing lungs and burning stomach.
The lid floats open and grants me my escape.
…if I have enough energy left to swim to the surface.
I push through the burning pain in my gut and pump my arms and legs to get moving. The swim feels like miles. Instead of the bottom of a lake, I’m coming up from the depths of the ocean.
The ice-cold water freezes me. My entire body has long gone stiff. I make the most of the breath I’m holding.
There’s no light.
Everything’s dark except for the tiny glimmer up top. Possibly the moon piercing through the water’s surface to spotlight me.
I fight for it, pushing myself farther, swimming however brokenly toward that small, blurry spot of light.
By the time I do break the surface, I’m half dead. My lungs are aching, and my heart feels like it’s about to explode. I drag myself up the icy snowbank, unable to stand much less crawl.
No real thoughts occupy my mind. No plots for revenge or bitter musings about what Rocky did. No emotions or feelings except delirium.
Just exhaustion and pain.
More burning, fiery pain that consumes me as I curl an arm around my bloody gut and inch forward by the elbow. Alfredo and his men have long since vacated the area, meaning I’m in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by thick trees and beds of snow.
Not a single soul would hear me if I called for help.
All by design. Alfredo must be pleased. His new pet rat helped him take out his fiercest rival.
I hang on for as long as I can before losing consciousness altogether. The pain becomes too much to bear, and my body and mind give in. I pass out, crumpled in the snow, staining its shimmering white flakes a gruesome dark red.
3
ARIANA
“Where do you think you’re going, Miss Thing?”
I glance over my shoulder to find Mrs. Beverly calling out to me from her table. She gets up out of her chair with the help of her cane and starts toward me.
A polite smile comes to my face. “No need to get up on my account, Mrs. Bev. I’m not trying to ruin the fun.”
“You’re just trying to skip out early.”
“It’s only seven o’ clock,” pipes up Mr. Craig, her husband. “You didn’t even try the mulled wine.”
I redirect my smile in his direction. “That’s because I have a long drive home, Mr. Craig. You know that.”
“Well, that’s why we’ve told you about living all the way out there. All by yourself,” Mrs. Bev says with a disapproving shake of her head. “You could find a nice little house here in town and be closer to everything you’d need.”
