My wrists sting with freedom. Okay. I need to get out of here. Breathe. Move. Go.
I peek down the hall. Coast clear.
Tip toe, tip toe.
I glide through the house like a thief. Every step soft, silent, calculated.
The hall is dark, just slits of moonlight cutting through the boarded windows. I pass a small table, and something glints.
A bottle labeled chloroform and rag. Ropes, masks, a whole crime kit.
My heart lurches.
Memories. Bad ones. Grayson, my insane ex-boyfriend turned kidnapper.
I reach the front door… And freeze.
There he is. On the couch. Sleeping.
One arm slung over his head, chest rising slow, rhythmic, infuriatingly calm. I wish I could turn off my emotions that quick.
It’s good he’s asleep. I can walk. Run. Get the hell out.
But…
I look back at the bottle.
Maybe I want to prove to Grayson I wouldn’t escape if I were unchained. Maybe he has brainwashed me that badly. Or… I glance at the Chloroform bottle.
Or maybe I’ve got a little darkness too.
Before I know it, I’m right next to Grayson, wet rag in hand. My heart races. I don’t know how quick this works. The last thing I want to do is wake this beast.
Carefully, I lower the rag to his nose, hoping the fumes alone will weaken him before fully pressing it to his face.
Please don’t wake up. Please, please, please!
A beat.
Then I press it to his nose.
Nothing.
No flinch. Move fast, Charlotte. Move.
I snap on the cuffs, wrists and ankles, then scramble for the rope. I stop. I have no clue what I’m doing. I didn’t think this through. How do I...
Shoot!
The couch.
Yeah! Just tie him to the couch.
I work fast, threading the rope under the couch, heart hammering. His body’s so heavy, so big… and gosh, even unconscious, he’s unfairly hot.
I tug his wrists up, stretching his muscled arms high above his head, the rope pulling tight against the cut lines of his biceps and forearms. Veins snake down to his hands, his fingers twitching even in the fog of Chloroform.
I place the rag on his nose for a moment until they stop.
