Page 104 of Doomed
I swallow hard, refusing to let him see how deeply his words cut. The thought of him watching us, recording us, makes my skin crawl.
“Shut up.” I stand, fists clenched, no longer caring about the consequences. “You can kidnap me, lock me up, threaten me—but you watched us? In our home? Those moments weren’t yours to take.”
Orlov’s eyebrows rise slightly, surprised by my outburst.
“When Knox finds out—” I step toward him, trembling with fury, “and he will find out—what you’ve seen, what you’ve stolen from us... Do you think he’ll just kill you? No. Death alone would be a mercy.”
Orlov throws his head back and laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls of my gilded prison. His amusement only fuels my rage.
“Such passion, Ms. Hayes. Such conviction.” He walks toward the door, adjusting his cuffs with casual indifference. “Get comfortable. I suggest you find ways to entertain yourself.” He pauses, hand on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder. “After all, I doubt Knox will be coming for you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” His smile turns cruel. “Men like Knox Blackwood don’t risk everything for a woman. You were fun to play with—a toy, a distraction, something pretty to fuck.” He shrugs. “But worth dying for? Worth starting a war over? I think not.”
The door closes behind him with a definitive click, and I’m alone again with my thoughts—thoughts that now whisper doubt where certainty once lived.
Would Knox come for me? After only a month together, am I worth the risk? The danger?
I pace the room, scanning for anything I could use. The furniture is heavy, ornate—nothing I could break easily. The bathroom has nothing but soft towels and fancy soaps. They’ve been thorough.
My gaze lands on the pen by the nightstand—sleek, expensive, metal. Knox’s voice echoes in my mind from a night two weeks ago, our bodies tangled in sheets, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare skin.
“This spot right here,” he’d whispered, pressing lightly below my ear. “Hit someone here with enough force—a pen, a pencil, even a chopstick—and they’ll drop instantly.”
I’d shivered at his words, oddly aroused by his casual description of violence. “Where did you learn that?”
His lips had curved into that dangerous smile. “You don’t want to know, beautiful. But I could kill a man fifteen different ways with just what’s on your nightstand.”
What had been darkly thrilling pillow talk then might save my life now.
I grab the pen, testing its weight and solidity in my palm. There’s also a heavy crystal paperweight, and the lamp has a cord I could use. Everyday objects transformed into weapons by knowledge I’d never thought I’d need.
I glance at the pen in my hand, the weight of it suddenly significant. What am I doing? Waiting around like some damsel in a tower for Knox to come charging in? That’s not who I am.
I’ve spent my entire life taking care of myself. Before Knox, before the Hunt, I was Bianca Hayes—an independent artist who built her career from nothing. I didn’t get where I am by waiting for someone else to solve my problems.
“Screw this,” I mutter, tightening my grip on the pen. “And screw waiting for Knox.”
I move to the bathroom, studying my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me isn’t some victim. Her eyes are hard, determined. I tuck the pen into my sleeve, feeling the cool metal against my skin.
I need more than just a makeshift weapon. I need a plan. The guards change shifts—I’ve heard them outside my door. There’s a pattern to their movements, to the sounds of the house. A rhythm I can exploit.
The next meal delivery is my opportunity. They’ll open the door, create a moment of vulnerability. I’ve noticed that the younger guard is distracted and less vigilant. He’ll be my target.
I test the pen against my palm, calculating exactly how much force I’ll need to apply to that spot below the ear. I rehearse the movement in my mind—swift, decisive, merciless.
My relationship with Knox has shown me glimpses of a world where violence is currency. I’ve absorbed more than I realized. Knowledge transferred through pillow talk will be useful.
If Knox comes, fine. If he doesn’t, also fine. Either way, I’m getting myself out of here.
I return to the bedroom and begin rearranging the space, creating obstacles near the door that will force them to step exactly where I need them to. I practice my movements, calculating angles and timing to perfect my technique.
One way or another, I’m getting out of here.
36
KNOX
