Page 134 of Broken Pact

Panic burns hot under my skin, diffusing my confusion as quickly as it came. My mind can’t help itself, it torpedoes to the worst-case scenario to explain this development. I could work with my wrists bound behind my back, but this . . . this is much harder.

I tug at my bound wrist, testing the strength of the zip tie. It bites into my skin, unyielding. Frustration and fear mingle in my veins as I scan the room for my ex. I half expect him to be lurking in the shadows again. But thankfully, he’s not here.

I don’t know how long I was out or when he left. Did he leave the house or just this room?

The questions are piling up, one over another, too quickly for me to process. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I don’t have any answers. All I know is I’ve got to get out of here.

Bile rises in my throat as memories of Grant’s unhinged confession rush back. The way his eyes gleamed with a sick pride as he described the horrible things he’d done in some twisted attempt to prove his love for me. I swallow hard, breathing through my nose to calm the nausea.

Or maybe it’s whatever he keeps knocking me out with that’s making me nauseated. It’s probably both.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine,” I whisper. The silly phrase that my cousin and I started saying as a joke turned into a mantra. I haven’t said it since that night after the concert, when Grant and his new friends cornered me by my car.

Jasper appeared like some kind of apparition that night, ready and willing to swoop in and rescue me.

God, how can that only be a couple of months ago? It feels like a lifetime.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, conjuring up an image of Jasper’s face. The strong lines of his jaw, the scruff shadowing his cheeks. The way his dark eyes soften when he looks at me, the crooked tilt of his smile that never fails to make my heart race—even when I pretended that it didn’t.

I remember the way he looked at me that night, the protectiveness etched into every line of his face. He was ready to take on five guys, and that was before we started really exploring this thing between us.

He’s always been willing to tear the world apart to keep me safe, I just didn’t really understand it until today.

My heart aches with the memory, with the longing to be back at his lake house. I know without a shadow of a doubt that Jasper is looking for me right now. But I don’t want to wait idly, not when there’s a chance I can fight my way out of this nightmare and get back to him. Back to us.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I tug at the zip tie once more, ignoring the pain as the plastic cuts into my skin. There has to be something around here I can use.

Evangeline was going to renovate Magnolia Lane, but then she ended up moving in with her men, and the project got put on the back burner. I spent weeks here, helping her clean out Nana Jo’s things last summer. But I have no idea what she left in this room,

Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I reach toward the nightstand with my free hand, praying there will be something useful inside. I tug open the top drawer, cringing at the loud scrape of wood against wood in the otherwise silent room.

Inside, I find a bunch of random things. An old, half-used chapstick, a few pens, an old receipt. I rummage through the contents, my fingers closing around a small metal nail file. The kind that Nana Jo left lying around her house all the time.

A surge of hope flares in my chest. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

I press the pointed end to the thick plastic bond, sawing at it frantically. My hand shakes and I fumble a few times, nicking my wrist. Blood pools instantly, rivulets streaming down my wrist and dripping onto the comforter.

But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I work, my breath coming in shallow pants. Urgency beats against my ribs, beseeching me to move faster and faster. I hear a thump from somewhere outside, and I freeze. My heartbeat thunders inside my ears, making it hard to decipher what noise is real and what’s inside my head.

Another thump.

“Oh fuck.” I return my focus to the nail file, and I pick up speed. I clutch the little metal file so tight, it breaks the skin on my palm. But I barely feel the pain. I barely feel anything over the rising tide of panic.

It feels like a tsunami, swelling larger and larger as it approaches the coast. I know it’s going to swallow me whole if I don’t get the fuck out of here.

The file slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor. I curse under my breath, fumbling to retrieve it with trembling, bloody fingers. Every second counts, and I can’t afford to waste any time.

As I bend down, I hear the unmistakable sound of . . . something. I freeze, my hearing straining to decipher if it's a normal house sound or if it’s him. Sweat beads along my forehead as I wait, like a deer trapped in the headlights.

There it is again. Thump, thump, thump.

He’s back.

No, no, no. I need more time.

Desperation floods my veins as I saw frantically at the zip tie, the metal file slicing into my skin with every frenzied stroke. Blood drips down my arm, but I barely register the pain. All I can focus on is the plastic binding trapping me here, and the encroaching footsteps getting louder by the second.

---