Page 55 of Power Term

A warm, comforting sensation tingles up my arm as our fingers touch. The small hard plastic case falls into his palm. Before I can pull away, he closes his fist, sealing our hands together with a quick firm hold. It’s over as fast as it happened, allowing me to shuffle back away from the sharp knife his dexterous fingers just flicked open.

From the knife sawing through the zip tie, to his cringing face, to the stairwell, and back again, I shift my nervous gaze as my heart races with the anticipation.Will we get out of this in time? Will Shawn open the door now and ruin everything I just painstakingly fought for?

A faint tap draws my attention to a long string of plastic sliced in half lying close to my bent knees.

The zip tie. Thecutzip tie. I stare at it, amazed that it fucking worked. That hard ring of plastic with the slice through it no longer holds Trey’s wrist. Or confines our freedom.

Damp palms press to my cheeks, tilting my gaze up from off the floor.

“Randi, you with me?” Trey searches my face as he kneels in front of me.

Kneels.

“You’re free,” I rasp.

“And so are you. Now come on, we need to fray those wires. I liked your plan of setting the place on fire. Seems a worthy exit, don’t you think?”

Chapter Seventeen

Trey

This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done—setting a house on fire with me and my girl trapped in the basement. That’s a bold statement considering all the shit I got into during those international trips prior to Randi. Hell, there are several countries I’m banned from ever entering again because of those… creative antics.

What can I say? I was a rich dipshit with short-term goals focused solely on women, booze, and having fun pre-Randi.

With a cautious glance to the sole door leading to the main part of the house, I say a silent prayer that this works. It has to. We don’t have any other options, not with Tank….

My heart seizes just thinking his name.

My best friend, the one who’s saved me more times than I can count. Gone.

Breathing becomes difficult as the weight of what happened earlier engulfs me, drowning me in waves of grief.

“Hey. Look at me, Trey.” Reluctantly, I tilt my face to hers. I don’t want her to see me this broken. Because that’s how my soul feels. Broken. Shattered. Unrepairable. All that and more must reflect on my face as she presses a palm to my swollen cheek.

“He would’ve known what to do.”

“We’re doing okay, aren’t we? We’re free. Plus we don’t know if he’s actually gone. Have some faith in your friend. If anyone could get out of that situation, it was T.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.” Fingertips to the ground, I push off the cool floor to stand. Careful of her injuries, I scoop Randi into my arms and gently rest her on the chair I was tied to just moments ago. “You stay here. I’ll figure out what we do next.”

Not waiting for a reply, I turn on the one boot heel and wet sock toward the sheet-covered mattress. A shiver of revulsion races down my spine at the sight, keenly aware why there’s a bed and she was lying on it instead of me. My fingers tighten into fists at the thought.

Nails digging into the white sheet, I rip it from the bed and wrap it around my forearm. I tilt my face to the ceiling, surveying the beams and exposed wires. Placing the igniting point far from Randi is a given, but I also need to consider that we’ll need the smoke close to the door; that way when they realize what we’ve done and come storming in, the smoke will conceal us to a certain point. The last thing we want is for them to have a clear shot. If I start the fire and keep the smoke near the door, it could offer the split-second opportunity to disarm the first one through the door before they know what’s happening.

But the smoke….

The sheet will have multiple uses today, it seems. Uncoiling it from my forearm, I use the handy-dandy Swiss Army knife to slice two wide strips. Bunching them together, I toss the small bundle to Randi’s lap.

“Hold on to those. We’ll use them as face coverings for the smoke.”

A somewhat plan in place, I stride across the room, my one boot heel clicking with every other step, to inspect the rectangular window. A frown tugs my lips downward. It’s too small for Randi to wiggle through and too high. Our only way out of here is up the stairs. Through the dozen or so armed men waiting beyond the door. Through a house I’m about to set fire to.

Not great, but it’s too late to turn back now, not that I want to. As sketchy of a plan as this might be, it’s still a better alternative to dying without even trying to fight.

With the remaining section of sheet, I dip beneath the wooden stairs’ supports, shimmying along until I’m directly beneath the landing above. I glance from the wires to my one boot and back again. The sole is rubber, so hopefully it’ll prevent me from electrocuting myself and leaving a roasted corpse for Whit to laugh over later. I just have to do all this while standing on one foot.

Fuck me.

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