Downstairs, I searched the kitchen for something useful to pick the lock or pry the door open. I grabbed the biggest kitchen knife I could find and then stumbled my way down a short, dark hallway. I found a single door and quickly pushed it open before I lost my nerve. I blindly slid my hand along the side wall in search of a light switch. When my fingers moved over the panel, I hurriedly switched it on.
The room turned out to be a garage, and after a quick search in the corners, I found no boogeyman lurking. A black Suburban, black BMW, and sick looking red and black bike filled up three of the spaces, leaving an empty space near the furthest wall. On the far wall was a red, metal chest that stood as tall as I was. I stepped onto the cold concrete and ignored the chill and roughness on my bare feet. Searching through the treasure chest of tools, I found a tension wrench and pick. I peeked around every corner as I made my way back upstairs.
Angel could have stopped me at any time. Instead, he once again used me for his amusement.
When I broke out of here, the joke would be on him.
I laid the knife close to me and set to work picking the lock. When the lock gave, I picked the knife from the floor and rushed inside. Like before the room was clean and simple. I was relieved to find the room warm. I only hoped he hadn’t chosen to starve him, too.
Caylen looked healthy with the rail under his tiny fists to hold him up while fat tears rolled down his face. My heart was pounding fast when I surged forward. I had my hands out ready to grab him from his prison when I was suddenly lifted into the air and drawn away.
“No!” My scream of frustration would have been heard by neighbors if the fucker had any. Caylen was screaming at the tops of his lungs, but his cries were broken now from overuse. I fought and kicked and even bit Angel’s fingers when he made the mistake of trying to silence me with a hand over my mouth. When he didn’t release me, I remembered the knife and awkwardly slashed at his forearm. Angel grunted from the pain, and after ripping the knife from my hand, he flung me across the room. I hit the wall hard and fell to the ground. When my body settled, I rejected the beckon of unconsciousness and found Angel standing a few feet away. His chest heaved up and down as he stared down at me with malice in his eyes. Blood trailed down his muscular arm and stained the plush carpet beneath us.
He didn’t seem to notice as he glared down at me. He looked ready to kill me. I searched for the knife and found the stained blade lying on the other side of the room. I would have to get past him, which would never happen, so I eyed the distance to the open door and realized I could make it out. I could run.
Of all the chances, it was the only one I really had.
But I couldn’t leave my son.
“Now would be the time to beg.”
I pushed myself up to sit on my ass and curled my knees against my chest. I fought, and I lost, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t fight again. Next time, I wouldn’t stop until he was dead. A smile crept up on my face, and I finally met his gaze. He was the one that fucked up.
“I won’t beg. I will never beg.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He stalked forward, and I discreetly moved to back away, but the unmoving wall he'd thrown me into earlier stopped me from going far. When he leaned down to grab me, I ducked his hand, but he caught me anyway and tugged me up by my hair instead of my throat where he first aimed. I cried out, but it was cut short when he swiped a finger through the blood on his arm. He held up his bloodied fingers for me to see.
“How does it feel to draw my blood?”
“Like I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.”
He chuckled. “Would it be wise for me to believe you?”
“Give me the knife back and let’s find out.” I’ll cut your throat this time.
“Hmm,” he quietly said while staring into my eyes. God, I hated when he did that.
“Well?” I prompted. My eyebrow lifted when he didn’t answer immediately.
“Well…” he said and then brought his finger closer to my face. I cringed when he lightly trailed his bloody finger across my cheek. “…I think my blood looks better on you.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Because bad ideas are what I’m good at.
ANGEL
“We leave for a few hours, and you start World War Three,” Lucas accused. Z laughed while he bandaged my arm.
I look up from pouring the much-needed whiskey to meet Lucas’s angry gaze. “I didn’t start it.”
“Then how did she get out or even far enough to get a goddamn kitchen knife?”
I drank the whiskey down in one gulp and reached for a second serving. “I got bored.”
“You’re fucking with me, right? She could have escaped.”
“From the looks of it, she could have killed you while she was at it,” Z joked.
I ignored Lucas’s anger and Z’s ribbing and focused instead on the naked wildcat who had cut me up. She sat gagged and tied to the chair I placed between my father’s desk and the couch. Lucas and Z had found us in the nursery moments after I smeared my blood on her cheek. She actually looked grateful to see them, or maybe she figured she’d been spared. Lucas and Z had tied her to the chair, and I pretended I wasn’t jealous of their hands on her body. She was naked except for the thin, short robe.