Blake Hart

The cuffs dug deeper into my skin.

I’d spent days trying to slip out of them, twisting and pulling until my wrists turned raw. The skin was torn now, hot, swollen and bleeding but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My hands were slick with blood, trembling with every jerk but this was the only chance I had.

They’d left me standing in the room like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t even a person anymore.

Let them think that.

Let them underestimate me.

Every second counted. I didn’t know who had come to the property, or how long the men who held me would be distracted. I only knew that I couldn’t be here when they came back. Not when they’d be angry, paranoid and more violent than ever.

I grit my teeth, breath catching as I gave one more desperate tug. A sharp sting cut through my wrist and then, suddenly, release.

My right hand slipped free.

I almost cried out from the pain but I bit down on my tongue and swallowed the sound. There was no time to celebrate. No time to rest. I didn’t even bother trying to get the other cuff off, I could move and that was enough.

I crept toward the door, footsteps silent, ears straining for any hint of movement.

The engines I’d heard earlier… had stopped.

They’re inside?

I pressed my ear to the door. Muffled voices drifted in from down the hall, low and urgent. I cracked the door open just enough to peek through.

No one in the corridor.

I moved, fast but silent, tiptoeing across the floor as my fingers still worked to free my left hand. The hallway stretched long and empty, shadows shifting with the dim light from outside. I ducked past doorways and hugged the walls, heart pounding.

At the end of the corridor, the staircase descended into a wide entryway. I dropped low, just enough to see.

Men. Three, maybe four. I couldn’t make out their faces, only their sharp movements and clipped words. Whoever they were, they weren’t dressed like the others, sleek black suits, clean lines, authority written in the way they held themselves.

But I didn’t care who they were. That wasn’t important.

Escape was.

Just one room at the end of this hallway had a window and it was the only one that could lead me out. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, back pressed to the wood.

The window was old, framed by chipped paint and a narrow wooden balcony. Beyond it, ivy climbed the stone wall, thick enough to hold me if I could just reach it. I didn’t hesitate.

The latch clicked quietly as I pushed the window open. Cold air hit my face. My legs trembled as I gripped the railing and leaned out, scanning the drop below.

Shit. It’s high.

My right hand screamed in protest as I shifted my weight, reaching toward the ivy. I couldn’t think about the pain. I had to move. Had to go.

The second my fingers wrapped around the vines, I began to climb.

One step. Two.

I didn’t look down. The ivy groaned but held. Inch by inch, I lowered myself, heart in my throat.

But halfway down, the vines thinned.

There was no more to hold.

I can’t go back. I won’t go back.

I looked up once. Just once.

And then I let go.

The ground slammed into me hard.

A white-hot pain shot through my right leg, radiating from my ankle. I gasped, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming. My vision blurred.

But I got up.

Because I was outside. The cool night air wrapped around me like a second skin. 

I scanned the yard, empty. Silent.

They must be inside the house.

Good.

I turned toward the trees and ran.

Each step sent a jolt of agony through my leg but I didn’t stop. My breath came in short bursts, the forest swallowing the sound of my panicked footsteps.

Gunfire cracked behind me, sharp and close.

I ran harder, ignoring everything but the need to get away. The trees thickened. My lungs burned. My ankle screamed.

Finally, I stumbled behind a cluster of oaks, collapsing against the rough bark. My hands shook as I reached down, lifting the fabric of my legging to look at the swelling ankle.

Bad. Maybe broken. Not good if I’m planning to run.

Then I heard it.

A snap.

Not from a tree branch underfoot. Not from my own weight.

A footstep.

I froze.

Someone was close, too close.

I pressed my back to the tree, holding my breath, eyes wide in the dark.

Whoever it was... they were coming.