Page 82 of The Bait

It was ridiculous how effective those cheap plastic things were.

Harry hated that he was subdued by something so simple.

Normally he wouldn’t have been subdued so easily. If his shoulder wasn’t so pained. If he hadn’t been stabbed in the side. If his ribs weren’t broken, and if it didn’t hurt to breathe, or think.

Fuck.

He hated being so pitiful.

The old Harry wouldn’t be so fucking useless...

“You know what?” Harry grumbled to himself.

“Huh?” Lucas croaked.

“I am the old Harry,” Harry said. “I’m not useless. And I refuse to fucking die with my hands behind my back.”

Then, with a strength Harry didn’t even know he had, he strained to pull his hands apart. Pain ripped through his shoulder, his ribs, the stab wound at his side. His jaw and teeth hurt from clenching with the strain. Starbursts shot behind his eyes.

He roared through the pain, through this one final attempt.

Until one of the zip ties gave way, snapping free.

His hands fell forward, muscles spent. He had to cradle his left arm because his shoulder... Jesus. His fucking shoulder burned with pain. The shoulder joint, the muscles across his chest and down his arm and back.

But he got his hands free.

The zip ties around his wrists were pulled so tight, cutting into the skin, he couldn’t even get a fingernail underneath them.

“Harry?” Lucas rasped.

“Yeah,” he panted. “Just got my hands free.”

Then he quickly sat down, feeling around for the broken zip tie. Once he found it, he set about using the tip to unlock the ties around his ankles. He only needed to do one...

And presto!

His feet were free.

Harry scrambled over to Lucas and, using the same technique, freed his hands.

Lucas groaned, each breath an effort, as he struggled to bring his arm underneath him. He could barely lift himself up enough, his lungs rattling, and he lay back down, panting as if he’d run a marathon.

“Thank you,” he wheezed.

Harry set about untying Lucas’s feet. He was barefoot, Harry realised, though his feet were tacky, sticky, and Harry looked at his fingers. It was too dark to really see, but Harry knew it was blood.

Christ.

“What did they do to you?” Harry hadn’t meant to say those words out loud.

Lucas only answered with ragged breaths.

Harry shook his head, frustrated and helpless. But he could stand now, and figuring Lucas had probably lapsed back into unconsciousness, Harry went back to the door.

He couldn’t feel any cool air around the door jamb. The door handle was gone. There was no light switch, no window. He looked up, squinting at the ceiling for an air vent or ducting.

They were basically locked underground in a dark sealed box.

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