Page 48 of His to Claim

Except that’s not me. I’m a fighter to my core and I always have been. Just rolling over and accepting defeat isn’t how I operate. Survival is ingrained in my very DNA and now isn’t the time to turn into a quitter. Now is when I need to step up and dig deeper than I ever have before. And that starts with being brave and smart.

Because I have a reason and his name is Damon Archer. No matter what he says, I know he cares. I know it, can feel it, on a soul level. There’s a reason he pulls away and claims he can’t get too involved. He thinks he failed his past girlfriend and blames himself for Cailin’s death. But that was a tragic situation and certainly not his fault. I don’t blame him for what happened and he certainly shouldn’t blame himself. I hate how the guilt of that relationship has made him think he can’t have another relationship. It breaks my heart because he is a good man, deserving and worthy of love. I need to reassure him in me, in us, in a future together.

But first, I need to get the hell out of here.

After filming me, Gallo left and I have no idea where he went. He even took his big thug with him, so I’m all alone now. This could be my one and only chance to try to escape and I don’t want to waste it.

My hands aren’t bound and I’ve been clutching at the rope wound around my neck, trying to loosen it, but having no success. So what else can I do?

Think, Lottie.

Chewing on my lower lip, I try to slip my fingers between my skin and the rope, but it’s too damn tight. It’s forcing my chin up and my gaze flits up to the rafters above me where the rope is looped. If only I could saw through it. God, I’d give anything for a knife right now.

It’s hard to look directly down because of the way I’m positioned, so I can’t see my feet at all. I didn’t even know there was a trap door beneath me until that bastard Gallo callously announced it while he was filming his freaking video.

God, I feel like I’m in one of those awful underground and very illegal films where they kill the poor, unsuspecting person. I don’t want to be a victim. And I certainly don’t want to go out this way, for these to be my final moments.

Twisting my body, I tell myself to remain calm, but the truth is all my logic is draining out of my body and panic is starting to consume me. I can feel the hope I was trying desperately to maintain earlier slowly slipping away.

Suddenly, I’m so damn angry—at my situation, at my helplessness and, most of all, at that last conversation Damon and I had in the car.

“We agreed once we went back to the city, you and I would go our separate ways.”

“I know what you said, but it’s not what I want. I think we owe it to each other to explore whatever this is more fully.”

“No. It’s impossible. You’re leaving and I already told you I can’t do that.”

“Why? Because of what happened with Caitlin? This is totally different?—”

“I don’t want a relationship with you, Carlotta. I can’t. I’m sorry. I thought I made that clear.”

Letting things end that way hurts my heart on the deepest level. We shared something so special—from the first moment we met at the masquerade party—and now it’s all going to end far too soon and beyond tragically.

Even though my throat is encased with rope, a sob manages to slip out. I give myself exactly one minute to lose my shit and cry my eyes out. To be sad and hopeless and have a pity party. Once I let myself mourn the way everything went so horribly wrong, after I get the emotions all out, I pull in a sharp breath, wipe the snot away dripping from my nose and decide to figure out my escape.

Because I am not some helpless princess waiting for her knight in shining armor to come rescue her. I am a strong, smart, fierce woman and I can do this.

Ihaveto do this. At this point, the alternative is death and I am not ready to die. Despite what Damon said, I believe we still might have a chance. Yes, the odds are stacked against me, but it’s time to make my move. And, hopefully, it will end up being a power move that changes the outcome of the game.

Sending up a silent prayer, I think back to the video and what Gallo said.

“I’m not sure if you can see, but right below your dear sister’s feet is a trap door.”

He’d brushed some hay aside to reveal the door beneath my feet.

“I’ve rigged the door to drop in exactly one hour. Oh, no wait. Maybe I only set it for forty-five minutes. No matter. Either way, when the trap door opens, Carlotta drops and the rope will tighten. I’m not sure you have enough time to prevent that, but I wanted to prepare you for what you’ll find—your baby sister’s corpse swinging from the rafters.”

Yeah, we’ll see about that, asshole,I think. But, I’m wondering where the timer is that’s supposedly counting down my imminent demise. At this point, it’s been over thirty minutes since he filmed the video. Maybe closer to forty minutes and that’s damn scary if what he said is true. Either way, I’m closing in on the forty-five minute mark fast. And that can’t be good.

I do my best to look around and find the timer. If I can stop it then the door won’t trigger open in the next five to fifteen minutes. At least that will give me some more time, a bit of wiggle room, and a chance to figure my way out of this awful situation.

And then I spot it, up in the rafters, and my heart sinks. The red glowing numerals show less than ten minutes and the seconds are disappearing so fast that I feel a sick twist in my gut. There is absolutely no way in hell I can reach that. Despite the utter futility of it, I reach up, my hand straining for an object that’s completely out of my reach.

Oh, God. I’m going to die in less than ten minutes.

And what do I have to show for it? Not much, I realize sadly. I was on the verge of a beautiful love story and it all got snatched away from me before it even had a chance to begin. Tears stream down my face when I think of what is about to happen—that I’m going to die alone and then my poor brothers are going to find my body hanging in this godforsaken barn.

I don’t want to be by myself when the trap door opens. I’ve never felt so out of hope, so desolate. It’s the worst feeling in the world, but I have no control over my fate, at this point. All I can do is pray for a miracle.

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