Page 150 of Double Bucked

Finally, he gets something I can use. A shovel. He drops it beside me.

“That’s more like it,” I sigh. “You beautiful fucking beast.”

I hook the shovel under my boot. I nudge it back, rolling it toward me. It takes a hell of a lot of maneuvering, but I manage to kick it toward my hands. I use the sharp end and start sawing at the rope. It nicks me more than once. I get a jolt of pain and the wet heat of my own blood, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Claire needs me. Everett needs me.

Heroes gotta hero.

I tilt my chin down. I grab the handkerchief in my mouth. I bite down on it to muffle my groans as I power through.

After what seems like ten lifetimes, I finally hear a snap. The rope slackens, losing its grip on my wrist. I pull back, free from the fence.

Eureka! The rope is gone, but I’ve still got a pair of handcuffs to contend with. I glance back at the door.

I can see just the outline of the security guard. Still facing away from me. Still talking to someone on his walkie-talkie.

Alright then. Let’s figure this out quick.

I tighten my core and push up to my feet. I nearly stumble into Chaucer getting up, and he clicks back a couple of paces to get out of my way. Hands still stuck behind my back, I find equipment hanging in the back of the stable. Brushes. Saddles. And?—

Farrier nippers. Good enough for horse hooves, then there’s good enough for these cuffs. Getting the thing to snap around the metal is a challenge, and when my frustration mounts, I close my eyes.

Okay. You don’t need to see to do this. You know these tools. Just…feel it.

I go slow. I feel the mouth of the nippers catch on the chain linking the cuffs together. I squeeze the handles hard until I hear it snap.

The nippers clatter to the floor. My hands fall to my sides, cuffs still wrapped around them, but the chain is broken, anyway. I’m free.

And in trouble. The sound caught the attention of the guard. He turns and heads back inside the stable.

Time to act.

I grab the rope hanging against the wall. He’s so startled to see Chaucer just chilling in the stable that it takes him too long to see me.

I knock him down with a swift punch. I get him on the ground and leave him hog-tied.

“Real sorry about this,” I tell him. “It’s not personal.”

He wiggles in place, his curses muffled by the rag in his mouth. I grab another coil of rope and wrap it up, looping it to my belt.

Before I leave, I ask him, “Hey, you don’t got headphones on you, do you?”

50

CLAIRE

When Loren and I make our way through the ballroom, everyone clears the dance floor to let us in.

We’re the center of attention.

The chandelier hanging above casts a sharply white glow. The faces of the crowd around us blur. As Loren and I move, I find myself unable to look away from his face. Every time I look beyond him, the room spins.

So I hold eye contact with Daddy’s killer as we sway to the music.

He might’ve been handsome if another soul wore his skin. A chestnut-brown mustache curls down his mouth. His hair has deep, thick waves. He’s svelte but soft.

We’re close enough that when he speaks, I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. He smells like he swallowed an entire pack of mints in a poor attempt to cover the nicotine stain on his tongue.

It takes everything in me not to turn away.

---