He was the one making all the noise. I groaned and sat up. There was twisting and muscles flexing and my captor looking way too hot as he fought with whatever inanimate object was giving him trouble.
I yawned and scratched at my head. My hair had to be a mess—he kept twisting it in the night as I moved around to get it away from him. It was a chore to open my eyes and look at him. Every part of me was stiff.
He didn’t pay any attention to me. I made a huffing noise as I threw the covers back and made my way to the bathroom. I used my fingers to comb through my hair to get the knots out and straighten the mess out some, but the only thing it seemed to be doing was breaking and freaking me out that my reflection was almost unrecognizable to myself.
A few minutes later, I was back to my spot on the bed, wishing I had a toothbrush. My teeth felt like there was fuzz growing on them. Maybe some face wash as well. Lip balm would be awesome and some lotion.
Couldn’t a captive get some toiletries? Basic necessities so I didn’t look like a zombie apocalypse survivor?
“Tell me what you know,” Six said, his forearms resting on his thighs.
I looked over to him, surprised by his sudden outburst. He sat in the chair he’d taped me to the day before while I was still tethered to the bed. Hell, he’d spent the night curled around me. Couldn’t a girl get a “good morning” at least?
“That’s a long list.” I lay down and propped myself up on my elbow.
His gaze narrowed. “About John Doe.”
“Which one?” I asked, just to be a bitch.
His lip curled up into a snarl, and he stood and closed the space between us. Reaching out, he fisted my hair, tilting my head back. I hissed, teeth clenched as my eyes watered from the pain.
“You will tell me what you know,” he growled out.
I met his hard gaze. “So you can kill me?”
“You wouldn’t be the first corpse I left tied up in a hotel room.”
He pulled on my hair as he let go, making me fall back onto the bed. I watched as he moved back, threw his T-shirt on, and slipped on his shoes as he grabbed his keys. Without a word to me, he walked out of the room. The sound of a car engine roared to life, wheels kicking up gravel, and he was gone.
Stuck alone again in a room in the middle of nowhere.
Unlike the last time, I had freedom and the possibility of escape. That small speck of hope had me sitting straight up and taking a much closer look at my restraints.
First, I inspected the cuff around my ankle and the wire it was attached to. There was no getting it off with my bare hands, and the key was still in his pocket or hidden away by then. My gaze bounced around the room in search of the duffle bags which held the tools he’d used to put my leash together.
I stood and took a few steps around the bed, then stopped. My right leg pulled at the wire creating a wide V, but that was the end. The bags sat against the far wall, next to the door, and out of my reach by a good six feet or more. He was far too acute to leave me near anything to aid in my escape.
My own Machiavellian mind moved outside the box for a MacGyver solution.
One end was secure around the basin of the toilet, which was actually very well installed and unmovable, even if I was able to get the loop of wire around the basin. Of course. He’d even gone as far as putting a stopper of some sort so that there was no slack in the loop.
The other end was not simply tied around one leg of the bed as I thought. No, that would have been a struggle, but a simple lift of the bed. He knotted it around each leg.
He was a busy boy while I was in the shower the day before.
Sitting down on the floor, I pulled at the wire in an attempt to get the bed to move, but it wouldn’t budge.
Lying down on the bed, I peered over the opposite edge and groaned.
Not only had he knotted it up, he had screwed it into the floor with a pretty hefty-looking bracket. Which explained the sound I’d heard.
“Fuck.”
I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling in momentary defeat.
Lead wire was out.
Cuff attached to ankle? There was a small possibility I could get it unlocked if I could find something, like a bobby pin.
That is, if bobby pins actually worked and weren’t a Hollywood fabrication.
I sat up and inspected the lock. It was tiny and possibly took a key that wasn’t very intricate, kind of like a suitcase key. Through the large O-ring was the wire, clamped in a loop by a C like piece of metal. If there were some way to open that up, I could get the wire out and be free.
The hunt for an unconventional tool began.
On the nightstand there was nothing of use—a lamp and the standard bible in the drawer that used to be all the rage. No loose screws on anything I could reach. Not even the knob would come off the drawer.