Page 115 of Wicked Duty
Chapter 45
Lucy
Hours of nothingness float past as Heather and I sit on the floor in silence, waiting for salvation that may never come. A guard enters the room once to bring us water but no food. His eyes roam our bodies too much for my liking, so I heave a relieved sigh when he leaves without harassing us.
As more hours pass, my remaining hope starts to dwindle. Rescue was always a long shot, but with my past, I figured the universe owed me at least one favor. Wishful thinking. But while my optimism may be depleting, my will to survive holds strong.
I know one thing for certain. I’m not about to wait around for Marco to realize I lied about the wallet’s location.
If Heather and I expect to escape this predicament, we’ll need to assist ourselves.
Slowly, my eyes comb the room for anything—anything at all—that could help us. An object we can use as a weapon. An ancient landline, conveniently plugged in and hooked up. A magic portal would really come in handy right about now.
My shoulders droop. Besides a couple of empty boxes, cascading maroon curtains, and a vent tucked above a baseboard near the back corner, the room is bare. No furniture.No artwork. Either Marco emptied the space out before he abducted us, or he has yet to decorate.
My attention returns to the vent. I scoot across the floor for a closer inspection. A couple of spots on the metal appear sharp.
I strain my ears for any noises outside the door. The guard checked in on us a little bit ago, and the hall is quiet. I can’t tell exactly how much time has passed, but I’m guessing it’s late.
Spinning around to press my back to the wall, I rub the zip tie against the vent’s jagged edge. The first few awkward attempts result in the plastic slipping and the metal scraping my skin instead. I keep trying to cut the plastic and eventually find a clumsy rhythm.
Heather shifts, blinking against the artificial light. “What are you doing?”
“Getting us out of here.”
Her eyes widen. “How?”
I motion with my chin. “Come here.”
After she inches across the floor, I whisper the plan that’s forming in my head.
The scheme leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s not as if we’re drowning in options.
If we wait here until Marco discovers that I lied about the safety deposit box, I might as well snag one of his goons’ guns and finish myself off. Because I refuse to tumble back into Viktor Roguilin’s clutches.
I continue rubbing the zip tie against the metal, ignoring the painful stings from when I miss and chafe my skin. After what feels like an eternity later, the plastic finally snaps. “Okay. You ready?”
Heather’s rib cage lifts and falls in rapid succession. I squeeze her shoulders with my newly liberated hands. “Easy. Deep breaths.”
To my relief, though her body continues to tremble, her breathing gradually evens out. “I’m scared.”
“Me too. This is a frightening situation. But you can do this, okay?”
She chews on her lower lip before nodding. “Okay.”
“Good.” Freeing my wrists was the easy part. From here, our escape plan becomes more challenging…and far more dangerous. “You ready?” I ask again.
Uncertainty flashes across her face, and then her shoulders straighten. With a determined glint in her eyes, her next nod contains more conviction.
We head to the middle of the room and sit again. I hide my wrists behind my back to mimic Heather, whose wrists remain bound.
Only a few seconds pass before the door opens and we’re face-to-face with the head goon, a man with thick hair and several nicks through his dark eyebrows. He leers at us, and my stomach sinks when Heather cringes.
Shit. Maybe this is too much for her.
I’m kicking myself when Heather speaks. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
The guard grunts in reply, marching across the room. Grabbing Heather by the elbow, he hoists her to her feet. She sneaks one last glance at me before he escorts her out.
