No.
No, I couldn’t let myself think like that. It made me powerless. I wasn’t powerless.
I’d been trained for this.
No, I hadn’t taken the training as seriously as many of my cousins had, but it was still there, still a part of my muscle memory. I just had to stop letting my mind run away with me, and focus on what needed to be done.
First, I needed to stop being such a chickenshit, open my eyes, and take in my surroundings. I couldn’t get myself free if I didn’t know what exits were around and if there were any weapons I could improvise to protect myself as I fled.
Taking a slow, steadying breath, I forced my eyes open.
I guess a part of me had somehow imagined I’d be in a dark, cinderblock-walled basement with no light and very little chance for escape. That was how they described it in the movies, right? Hell, it was usually how my aunts described most escape scenarios. We’d even been forced to try to wedge ourselves out of those tiny little casement windows. Those of us who had the boob and hip gods pour a little more generously didn’t ever manage to squeeze out of those.
But I wasn’t in a basement with the ever-present scent of must and the chill that hung in the air no matter the season, and no way out but the stairs that led up and into who-knew what sort of situation.
No. I was in a bedroom.
Directly in front of me, wedged up against a wall by a window was what looked like a full-sized bed covered in an old, painstakingly crafted quilt. Like someone’s grandma had made it.
Strange.
But okay.
That didn’t matter.
What mattered was the window. And the fact that it didn’t have bars or wasn’t boarded up. It was just sitting there, inviting me to get free from my restraints, throw myself out of it, and run like hell.
I was suddenly thankful that at least one of my jobs kept me in decent shape since I didn’t exactly go out of my way to run on a treadmill or anything like that. I at least had a chance. Especially if I could get out quickly and quietly, which would give me the head start I needed to get away from them.
Okay.
First things first.
Restraints.
I had to get out of my restraints.
I gave my wrists a good tug, trying to figure out what I was working with. Zipties would be best. Handcuffs weren’t impossible either.
But I found myself bound with rope.
“Damnit,” I hissed to myself as I started rubbing my wrists together, trying to get the ropes to give me just enough leeway to at least turn my hands so I could try to undo the knot. The rope burned against my skin as I moved, biting in, likely leaving marks.
But those would heal.
I had to think past the pain.
Taking slow, deep breaths, I focused on that instead of my wrists, drawing my focus inward instead of out as I kept rubbing and pulling.
I finally felt the smallest bit of slack, maybe enough for me to slip one hand out, then the next, if I really tried, when the door behind me opened.
It made no sound. But I swear I could just feel it slide open.
My stomach tensed as my breath got caught in my chest.
I swear I felt my pulse thrum in my throat, temples, and wrists.
The hair on my arms and neck prickled as I felt the air shift as whoever it was moved into the room behind me.
Bile rose up my throat as a hand ran along the edge of my hair. It was a soft, barely-there touch. The kind of motion you’d expect from a lover, not a predator. Which made it all the worse in my opinion.
My body went ramrod straight in the chair as a body brushed my shoulder as it started to come around me.
I had a moment to process that it didn’t feel right before the person was in front of me, and the floor fell like it dropped out from under me.
Not two men.
Not even one man.
No.
It was a woman.
A very familiar woman, in fact.
“Lizzie?” I asked, my voice sounded choked and airless.
Lizzie?
The sweet, shy wife of my pain-in-the-ass tantric student Reggie?
In what world did that make any kind of sense?
“Hey, Billie,” she said, shooting me a nonthreatening, soft smile as she moved over toward the bed, kicking out of her flats, then climbing up on it and sitting in lotus like she would at the beginning of her classes. She even put her hands at her knees and sat up straight. Like we were just a couple of friends having a chat. Not a captor and her prisoner.
But wait… no.
There were two.
Two.
Which meant one of them had to be Reggie, right?
Lizzie was one thing. I felt like I could maybe talk her into letting me go.