Page 35 of The Heir
She didn't lock them. She just slapped them on, like she probably did when she was a cop.
Leaning all the way to the side, I stretch my arm as far as it'll go—trying to pick up the tiny pin. If I can just get the pin, I can shove it in the latching mechanism and open the cuff. I giggle to myself. Who knew my college party trick would come in handy someday?
"Oh, my god, I'm an idiot," I whisper to myself. Who gives a shit about that when I can free my other hand?I set to work, twisting and pulling on my right hand's bindings. It goesmuchfaster, and I even catch the little pin.
Within moments, both of my hands are free. I flex my fingers and giggle again. I hope Ella comes back. I hope that Hannah woman shows her face. I hope I getanyonewith a face in front of me. I don't have the gnawing desire in the back of my skull—this is justme.
And I'm gonna fuck shit up.
Scooting myself to the end of the hospital bed, I assess the situation with my feet. Thick iron manacles sit heavy around my ankles. A rusted chain dips below the bed, attaching to a metal loop built into the floor. Fuck. They look old. Like maybe they were left here when this place shut down, however long ago that was. There's no possible way this is still a functioning prison. There are no guards, no modern fluorescent lighting, and no constant din of arguments or conversation.
The only lighting available is a temporary light hanging from the ceiling on a wire. It's blindingly bright, and the bulb is hidden behind a white cage. It almost looks like something a construction crew would use.
That's no help. But as I scoot down off the bed, itmoves. The bed fuckingmoves. Old, rusty wheels scrape against the floor as I pull the bed back and forth.
"Oh, Ella, you stupid bitch," I murmur. The chain clanks and rattles as I reposition myself on the dirty floor.
"Oooh!" An unfamiliar, feminine voice floats down the hall. "New guests!"
I hear Helena's sharp inhale. That must be Hannah. With my feet still chained, I whirl around and inspect the bed. It's old and some of the metal rods have rust, but if I can yank out justonepiece, I'll have something to defend myself with.
Not that I usuallyneedsuch things. But if Hannah scares Helena, who knows what she'll do to me? Grabbing at the rods, I twist and turn them, trying to pry one loose.
"Who should I visit first?" The woman hums, then laughs. "Oh! Hello, you. You'redelicious."
I hear my husband grumble something back, and my movements become jerky. A possessive fury vibrates in my bones. I'll fucking kill her, too. That'smyhusband. She's fucking dead—she just doesn't know it yet.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" I shriek out, rattling the bars of this goddamn hospital bed. One of the rodsmightbe loosening, but my vision is too clouded with rage to tell. "Get in here, bitch! You're fucking dead!"
"Spicy," she cackles from down the hall. "Who's that?"
"You Hannah? Then I'm the bitch that shot your brother!"
Silence. Only the sound of dripping water echoes through these abandoned halls. After a few seconds, I hear shuffling against the floor and a repeated whispering from Helena's direction.
"Did you not fucking hear me? Your brother isdead!Because of me!" I bellow. My hands clamp around the thin metal railing on one side of the bed, yanking as hard as I can. With a high-pitched squeal, the railing comes loose. "Ha!"
"What did you say about Roman?"
I whirl around to find a scowling woman with hair in a familiar shade of brown and her eyes are a piercing blue. Dressed in gray scrubs, she looks like an unhinged nurse. Dark circles line her eyes, and her cheekbones cast shadows down her gaunt face. She's not quite as angular as Roman is—was—but the resemblance is obvious. I bare my teeth in a grin. Shehasto be Hannah.
"He's dead," I snarl. "He's fucking dead. I shot him, and I'mhappy. It felt so fucking good to put him down like a rabid dog. I did him a fucking favor—traitors deserve worse than death."
As I hold the metal railing aloft, we circle each other—rather, I try to. The chains around my ankles won't let me move very far. But I can work on that as soon as this bitch is taken care of. Hell, maybe she has akey? I watch her hand snake into her shirt pocket and make a fist around… something. Hannah stops in her tracks, and I tighten my grip around the rail. She cocks her head to the side as if listening to something, then smiles.
"He says we're going to have so much fun," she whispers. "Me and my big brother are gonnaplaywith you."
Oh, she'scrazycrazy. Good. I am, too.
I heft the railing up and take a wide swing at her, but she's too fast—she darts forward, and something cold stings my arm. Fuck this bitch. If she's gonna put me to sleep, I'm going down swinging. I let out a vicious scream and aim the metal at her again, flailing wildly. I get one good hit in before the drugs—whatever they are—finally take hold, and the world goes dark.
Dante
The drugs in my system seem to be losing their hold. As I regain consciousness—again—I find that I'm no longer chained to a gurney. They moved me, but not before I heard Melody scream like a holy terror and fight Hannah. I don't know if my wife could hear me shouting encouragement. I don't know if my shoutseven came out.
I know I heard their scuffle as I was struggling to stay awake. Dire as our situation may be, I'm proud of her for fighting like hell. She's done more than I have.
Rolling my head to the side, I take stock of my surroundings. They've given me a prison-style cot as a bed. The thin mattress resembles compressed cardboard rather than anything fit for humans to sleep on. The only fixture is a small metal shelf attached to the cinderblock walls and holds a small cup of water. A bucket sits ominously in the corner. There is no plumbing nor any windows. The only light comes from a single, weak lightbulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.
