Page 48 of The Vipers' Vow

What he doesn’t know is that I have a cleaver hidden underneath my t-shirt, the cold metal flat against my spine. Getting it hadn’t been easy. I’d taken off my boots and socks, then had to lie flat on my back to stretch my feet out to the cabinet, and open it, and unhook the cleaver with my toes. I’d been lucky I hadn’t cut my foot off, or at the very least lost a toe. But it had worked, and I’d been able to drag the cleaver close enough to pick it up with my unchained hand, and then hide it behind my back, the handle shoved down the back of my pants. Then I’d gone through the arduous task of once more getting my boots and socks back on, while having one hand chained. Afterward, I’d tried to rest. I’d been terrified of quite literally stabbing myself in the back as I’d slept, but somehow, I hadn’t even nicked my skin.

The problem I have now is choosing the right moment to use the weapon. I’ll only get one chance, and if I pick the wrong moment, I’ll be fucked.

No, probably worse than fucked. I’ll be dead.

Apo tosses the bowl down on the floor beside me. I screw up my nose at the sight of the brown mulch of meat. What the fuck is that? Actual dog food? If he thinks I’m going to eat that shit, he can go screw himself.

He doesn't give me the chance to refuse, though. He grabs my hair viciously and pushes me down until my face is mashed against the awful soft food in the bowl. The stench hits me and sets my stomach roiling all over again.

Laughing deeply, the psychopath holding my hair lets go and kicks me in the thigh before he saunters out of the room.

I'm left alone, with a face covered in dog food, the worst thirst I've ever felt, and aching pains all over my body. I raise one shoulder and twist my neck to wipe my face the best I can against my t-shirt.

Still, I have the cleaver, and, now that I'm awake, I need to figure out what I'm going to do. I can't fight back against them even with my weapon if I'm still chained. I don’t know if the cleaver will be strong enough to break through the metal of my chain, and I’m concerned about noise. The clanging of metal on metal is bound to be heard. From the upper decks, the heavy bass of music drifts down, followed by laughter. Even though it’s the middle of the night, it sounds as if Jarl and his men are letting their hair down a little. They're probably up on the sundeck, playing some music and maybe even drinking some beers, or something stronger.

I strain my ears and wonder if it’s loud enough to cover the sound of my attempted escape. Because Ihaveto escape. Vani and the guys are on their way, and when they arrive, I refuse to still be fucking sitting here like a lemon. I won’t let Jarl use me to hurt them.

Reaching behind my back, I feel for the cleaver, and a slow smile spreads across my face as the music notches up another level. It's some rap from the early 2000s that I vaguely recognize. The bass is deep enough that I hope it will hide the sound of me hitting the chain.

I don't believe for one moment that when my twin and the others arrive, I’ll be set free. I think I'm being held as bait to trap them. We'll all need to do everything within our power to escape at that point. If they're trying to free me, it’ll slow down their escape. On the other hand, if these men can't find me when my friends arrive, that will slow my captors down. They will be distracted looking for me, probably thrown completely off balance if they come in here to find me gone.

When I free myself, I had considered simply attacking these guys and trying to get away. But that would probably be a suicide mission when I know they’re armed with guns. Instead, I’ll try to get free, and if I succeed, I'll hide. They might say hiding is for cowards, but I say the clever man is the man who lives to fight another day.

It occurs to me that I could try to slip off the side of the boat and make a swim for it, but I have no idea how far I am from shore, and it’ll be pitch black outside. The darkness will give me cover, but how far will I get? I have a head injury, and I’m definitely not at my strongest, physically. Leaving the boat feels like abandoning Vani and Zane and Saint, too. What if they show up, and I’m no longer here, and they’re never going to find me because my body has already sunk to the bottom of the lake to be feasted on by fishes and crabs?

When the others arrive, they’re going to need as many people as possible on their side, and that includes me.

I reach behind my back with my free hand and remove the cleaver from where I’d hidden it from Apo. It’s a solid piece of metal, but I honestly don’t know if it’s going to be strong enough to break the chain. I’m sure as hell going to try, though.

I pull my chained arm toward me, so the chain between each cuff is taut. Tightening my grip around the metal handle of the cleaver, praying my palms don’t sweat so much that I lose my grip, I focus on the spot where I intend the blade to meet. The chain isn’t particularly long, and I’m conscious of just how close to my upturned wrist the blade is going to land. If I get my aim wrong, or my grip slips, I could end up cutting off my hand and bleeding to death before I even get out of this fucking kitchen.

With a roar, I raise the cleaver and bring it down as fast and hard as I can, slamming the blade onto the chain. Metal clangs on metal, and the impact vibrates through my clenched hand and up my wrist and arm.

I haven’t hit my arm—thank fuck—but, as I stare down at the spot where the sharp edge hit the chain, my stomach sinks in disappointment.

Merde.

I stare in frustration at the still intact chain and grit my teeth. There’s barely a mark on it. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the beads of perspiration that are starting to trickle down the side of my face. I need to try this again before I give up on this idea completely.

With a growl, I slam the cleaver into the chain, again and again. I’m conscious of the noise, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

With each strike, I imagine it's Shriveled Dick Necklace I'm attacking. I picture his skull caved in, and his eyes widened in surprise as his idiotic brain realizes I'm about to take his life. No matter what else happens, I don't want to let him live. He makes me sick, with his stupid necklace and his animalistic cunning. He might not be intelligent, but he's got the ruthless smarts of an adaptive predator.

I stop, breathing hard, and stare down at the chain.

Fuuuuuccck.I want to lift my head and scream at the ceiling. There are a few tiny marks on the links, but that’s all. If anything, it’s the cleaver that’s come off worse. The one lethally sharp edge is now dented and dulled. If I continue with this, I’m going to ruin my weapon.

There has to be another way.

I take in my cuffed hand and remember what I’d thought about cutting off my thumb to be able to slide the cuff off. I don’t want to go down that route, and cutting it off probably isn’t a good idea if I want to be in any fit state to deal with Jarl and his men when the others arrive. If I’m weak with blood loss, I’ll be no good to anyone. But could I break my thumb? I’d dismissed the idea earlier, but now I’m desperate. It’s my left hand that’s cuffed, so I can still fight with my right, though it’ll still put me at a disadvantage.

Plus, it’s going to fucking hurt.

Am I brave enough to put myself through that kind of pain?

Immediately, Vani’s face comes to mind, the way she gazes up at me with those big doe-brown eyes, hiding behind those long lashes. If I don’t do this, I’ll be abandoning her. I might never see her again, or, worse, the next time I see her, it might be with Apo raping and murdering her. I’d want to die myself if that happened. I just want to take care of Vani, to be the comfort after my brother’s cutting words.

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