Page 72 of The Warlord

I took off again, the rain soaking me to the bone almost immediately. I pushed through a grove of trees, their rain-laden branches hanging low to the ground. Glancing left and right, I attempted to orient myself, but with the cloud covering the moon and stars, there was very little in the way of light.

Behind me, I heard someone grunt, then swear, and I took off again.

Up ahead, a large, solid object came into view. It spanned left and right for as far as I could see, and I guessed it was the perimeter wall. Skidding to a halt in front of it, I peered up. At least eight feet high. I could do this, though.

Retreating back a dozen feet, I set off at a run, launching myself at the brick wall. My fingers wrapped around the top edge, and I was about to pull myself up when something hard and warm wrapped around my ankle. I kicked, hearing anoomphof pain. Unbidden, a triumphant smile appeared on my lips as I prepared to go over the wall. I got my body up onto the top of a foot-thick brick wall and peered over the top. There was nothing but inky blackness on the other side, but I could hear the sound of running water somewhere down there.

I had to choose.

Dropping fuck knew how many feet down into a potentially icy body of water, in the dark, or surrendering to this unknown group of men. I’d never been very good at surrender. Swinging my legs around, I prepared to drop when someone’s arms cinched around my waist from behind, and I was dragged backward.

“Got you now,” a dark voice said, hauling me up and over his shoulder.

Fuck, what was it with these Irish men and throwing terrified women over their shoulders?

With one arm banded around my thighs, he manhandled me back to the front of the building, where Sam was still standing with a smile on his face.

“Did she get far?”

“Almost over the wall,” the man who was carrying me replied, grunting as he repositioned me. “Where do you want her? The cells?”

Fuck.

“No. There’s a room prepared upstairs for her.”

Sam shook out his umbrella and led the way inside. Looking under my ride’s arm, I got an upside-down view of the world. A heavy, wooden door. An ancient hardwood floor covered in rugs. An oak staircase that took up most of the foyer space. Walls hung with tapestries and stuffed animal heads.

We walked up to the first floor, and I saw that the stairs ascended a little farther. On the first landing, Sam continued down a long hall where oversized portraits hung on plastered walls and a long runner cushioned his feet.

Eventually, we came to a stop, and Sam opened the door. The room beyond was empty except for a single, wrought-iron bed frame with a thin foam pad placed in the center.

When I was unceremoniously dumped onto the mattress, I whirled around and spat, “What the hell is this? Who are you?” But it was too late. The bedroom door was already closing—an ominousclickpunctuating the bolt sliding into the strike plate.

Calling on all the drills my father had made me do, I walked the perimeter of the room, looking for any loose floorboards, sections of wall, or anything I could use as a weapon. The bed—although made of iron—was literally bolted to the floor, and the springs had been welded to the frame.

Knowing there was no help coming—since nobody knew where the hell I was—I looked around the room again, trying to find either something I could use as a weapon or a way out. I re-checked the windows, contemplating shimmying out the damn things, but as I looked at the painted-over casement, I came to three realizations.

First, there was nothing I could wrap around my hand to protect it from the shattering glass.

Second, even if I did have something, the noise would draw the guards.

And third, the glass was infused with chicken wire. Even if I did break it, the thick chicken wire would prevent me from escaping out the window.

I shivered, and it had nothing to do with being dripping wet and more to do with being captured and held against my will for the second time in what I suspected was no more than a week.

Clearly, they wanted me alive. Otherwise, I would’ve been shot in the back of the Rover and my body dumped. The fact that they didn’t, meant I was going to be used as a bargaining chip. And as a bargaining chip, they had to keep me alive, so no starvation for me. They would have to bring in food and water soon.

Death by hypothermia, however, was still a very real threat. I noticed my breath hovering in front of my mouth with each exhalation, and I knew I had to get warmth back into my body somehow.

I glanced down at my bandaged palm, then at the welded bed spring—a plan formulating in my head.

Reaching down, I made sure to grab the gnarliest-looking spring—the one with the sharpest point—and yanked on it with my injured hand. Sure enough, the sharpened point dug into my already painful palm, amplifying the injury ten-fold.

“Son of a bitch!” I yelled, pulling away. Fresh blood was already soaking into the gauze. Clenching my hand into a fist, I tried to stem the flow. With blood dripping from the bandage, I hammered on the door with my undamaged fist.

“Hey! I need a bandage in here!”

Silence.

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