Page 94 of The Billionaire's Bride
I tug on my ropes, yank at them, but they don’t give. I push down with my feet, managing to move the chair slightly. My muscles protest. Sweat pours down my face. Shit, this is not good, not good. "Help," I cry out again. There’s silence, except for the crackling sound, which I swear, has grown louder. The heat in the room pushes down on my chest, my shoulders. My throat closes; the band around my chest tightens. Shit, if there's a fire, am I going to stay here like a sitting duck? I stare at the door, then back at the window. If only I could creep a little closer. Surely, the air nearer to the pane would be fresher?
I push against the floor, leaning toward the window. This time the chair moves a little more. I force myself to push again, and again. My breath catches, panting. I focus on the window pane. I’ve managed to move, maybe a few inches. It’s just the angle at which I have been tied to the chair—it’s all wrong. OMG! I am going to burn in here. Shit, shit, shit.
Why are the guys not here? Surely, they should have figured out where I am by now? And if they haven't? What if there are no clues to lead them here? What if they have no idea where to look?
Tendrils of smoke slitherin from under the door frame and I cry out. "Please, no," I gasp, "no, no, no." I push against the floor, leaning in the direction of the window.Pretend it's a belly dance, but one where you are burdened with weights. Where your arms and legs are bound and it’s up to you how well you can put the muscles you’ve gained thus far to use.
I undulate my hips, wriggle my torso, even as I push my heels into the ground and careen to the right. With a screech the chair moves toward the window. I repeat the action, and again. My head pounds, my heart hammers so hard against my chest that I am sure it’s going to break through my ribcage. I pant, draw in a breath and cough. I panic as I realize the room is filling with smoke. Shit. My eyes water and my pulse thuds at my temples. Damn, if I am going to go down without a fight. I lean my torso to the right, push off with my feet. This time, the chair careens to the right, then tips over. "No…" I scream as the chair hits the floor, my cheek smashes into the wooden planks, the reverberations sweep through me, and the hammering in my head intensifies. "No…please." I sob, "No, I don’t want to die like this. Please."
32
Baron
"What the fuck is that?"
I stare through the windshield at the smoke that rises into the air. Edward leans forward, peering through the windshield. "Fuck." He presses down on the accelerator and the car leaps forward. He negotiates the winding country road, screeching around the next corner, as I fix my gaze on the plumes of black smoke.
"If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself," I reach for the phone, dial 999. As soon as the operator comes on the line I give them the location of the fire, then hang up.
Edward clutches the steering wheel, the skin stretching white across his knuckles. "F-u-c-k!" he yells. "This is fucked up; why the hell would they want to harm her?"
"To get to us?"
"We were wrong in not discussing everything openly with her." He slams his fist on the steering wheel and the car wobbles.
I brace myself against the door, staying focused on the scene ahead, "If we get her out unhurt… I’ll…" I can’t bring myself to say it. I can’t walk away from her, can I? But I’d heard her tell Edward that she loved him. That must mean something, right? I should have walked away when Edward had asked me to. I hadn't, and now, here she is, likely trapped in the burning house.
"Fuck." I grab my hair and tug on it. "She’s going to be fine; she has to be fine."
Edward careens around the next corner, pulls into the driveway of the house. I’ve unbuckled my belt and jumped out before the vehicle has come to a stop. I race toward the doorway, Edward in on my heels.
I try to push open the door and it doesn’t budge. I put my shoulder to it and it barely moves. "Motherfucker."
Edward notches his shoulder against the door "On my count: one, two three…" We put our strength behind it and the door shudders.
"Once more," he grunts. "One, two three…"
We smash our shoulders against the door and it creaks, groans, then comes away at the hinges. We stamp across the fallen door, into the hallway. Smoke fills the hallway, and I cough. Heat sears my skin, sweat beads my forehead.
"Fuck." My heart pumps in my chest like it wants to escape. "This is not good."
"Where the fuck could she be?" Edward cries.
We stare around the space. "I’ll take the stairs, you check the rooms on this floor."
"Hurry," he urges me.
We split up, I race for the steps, hit the landing on the first floor. Glance down the corridor and swear. Smoke swirls across the space. I tear off my jacket, hold it to my nose. Four rooms; there are four on this floor.
Ahead, flames zip up the doorframe. The door catches fire then crashes to the floor. The sound sweeps through my mind—the zing of bullets, the cries of soldiers. All of it overwhelms me. My stomach churns, bile boils up my throat. Images flood my mind and I am powerless to stop the flashback.
Smoke, so much smoke, so thick that I can’t see in front of me. My foot brushes something. I glance down, take in the charred body. My guts twist. Bile splashes up my throat. I swallow down the acidic taste, grip my gun, keep going. I can’t see my hand in front of my face. Cries fill the space, more bullets, the thump of bodies hitting the ground. I keep my gaze trained forward. Keep moving. I just need to get to the other side. A bullet whizzes past me. My pulse rate ratchets up. Adrenaline laces my blood. I train my gun, take aim and fire. And again. And again.
There’s a touch on my shoulder and I snap out of the memory. I turn to find Edward next to me.
"She’s not on the ground floor." He coughs. "I am going to search the rooms on the top floor." He peers into my face, "You got this?"
"Yeah." I swallow.
