She wasted no time. She picked up the sharpest-looking piece with her teeth, and then she adjusted her body and strained her neck so that her mouth was at the tape on her wrist. And then she began sawing. Back, forth, back, forth. She barely felt the small slices to her tongue and her lips, but she tasted the blood. That didn’t stop her, though. She didn’t even slow.
Fast, but not so fast you drop the piece through the wrought iron bars of the headboard.
Slow and steady wins the race. Slow and steady wins the race.
She heard what sounded like the trunk slamming in the garage, and then their tromping feet as they came back into the mudroom, the door opening and shutting behind them.Back, forth, back, forth.
They walked through the kitchen, still talking, but Cami only made out a few words, her focus directed on her work. She wouldn’t stop until she had to.
“ . . . no choice . . . man up, dipshit.”
“Somewhere far . . . didn’t sign up for . . .”
The broken glass cut through the edge of her tape, and she sped up, almost dropping the tool and slowing again, every muscle in her traumatized body screaming in pain, her spirit straining toward the freedom that was—literally—just within her grasp.
They’d stopped and were arguing again. One of them sounded like he was shedding tears, his voice whiny and cajoling. “I can’t, Trig. You gotta.”
“Fuck you, man. I gotta do everything. Fine.”
The tape gave and her wrist came free, the dead weight of her arm dropping as she sucked in a breath and worked to raise her arm again and hold it next to the post it’d been tied to so that it appeared it still was.Oh my God, it worked. It actually worked.She licked the blood off her lips as she dropped the piece of glass on the mattress below the pillow. Then she scooched the pillow slightly to cover the shard and took a gulp of air before pressing her face to the pillow to stick the tape to her cheek as best as possible with what little glue residue there was left.
And then she pretended to sleep as the monsters approached.
Chapter Eight
Their footsteps slowed at the door of her room, and she sensed someone looking in. She held her breath, her body quivering. She swore she could feel their darkness like a shift in energy or a sudden drop of temperature.
We’re gonna have to make it so they can’t talk.
She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew it wasn’t good. Were they going to take them along when they left? Force them into their car and take them to a secondary location? Some warehouse or basement where they’d never be found? Kill them? Her thoughts scattered again, the fear overtaking the focus she’d achieved as she’d worked to get free.
“Start with the mom,” the one who’d been teary downstairs said. “It’s the decent thing to do.”
The word didn’t compute, not coming from the mouth of one of the men who’d spent the night abusing and torturing them. AJ and Trig moved beyond her room, and she rubbed the tape aside from her mouth, lifted her head, and bent and retrieved the piece of glass beneath the edge of the pillow.Start with the mom. Start with the mom.The words strummed over her nerve endings, the insinuation so horrifying it threatened to send her spinning.
The arm that she’d gotten free was still mostly useless. She brought it down and blood started pouring back through her veins, the pain so intense she almost sobbed. It would be clumsy and uncoordinatedat best. It was free but still no good to her now. She turned and began sawing at the tape on her other wrist with the piece of glass held between her teeth, picking up the pace despite the risk.
The sound of a muffled gunshot nearly made her heart explode from her chest, and she bit her tongue not to scream out loud, dropping the piece of glass behind the bed.
Mom! Mom! Oh God, Mom!
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” the man down the hall repeated again, his voice soggy and high pitched.
I’m going to get you help, Mom. Hold on. Hold on.
She clenched her jaw and lifted her limp arm with effort. It was still mostly dead weight, but it was all she had. She started going for the second piece of glass but changed her mind and instead used her trembling, unwieldy fingers to pick at the edge of the tape, peeling back enough to grip in her fist. Then she yanked with all her might.
She heard a ruckus down the hall, and she did sob then, tears streaming down her face and burning her raw cheeks. Elle was fighting in the only way she could. She was kicking and straining against her bonds.I’m coming, Elle. Keep fighting.
She heard them murmuring but couldn’t make out the words. She yanked the tape, the bed banging on the floor, and if they heard it, they must have thought she was attempting to communicate with her sister. And she hoped to God it was doing that too. That with every thump and slam, Elle was reminded that Cami was there with her. She was not alone.
The tape was loose now, stretched enough that she twisted and finagled her hand out of it, pulling so hard that the skin of her wrist ripped off like that on her face. She barely felt it, a gunshot causing her to cry out as she rolled to the floor, her arms flopping with her. Cami sprang to her feet and ran for the door, rounding the bend, her feet soundless on the plush carpet.
They hadn’t left Elle’s room yet, but they’d be heading to Cami’s room momentarily.Gun, gun, gun. Get the gun.She panted, the tapestill dangling off one side of her face as she ran for the primary bedroom on legs that barely worked yet managed to get her there.
Her mom was lying on the bed, her chest soaked in blood, a pillow with a burned hole in the middle tossed beside her. Cami turned her head and pressed her mouth against her own shoulder to keep from screaming.Get the gun, get the gun.
She turned toward the closet and lunged toward her dad’s dresser, going down on her knees as she lifted her arm that felt like it weighed fifty pounds and slid the drawer open. She heard them walking down the hall toward her room.
