The Soldier and the Princess

Chapter twenty-five

Daphne

Theminutestickedby, stretching into hours, and still, I hadn’t figured out a way out of the blasted room.

The window I had escaped through last time had been thoroughly boarded over again with several new nails in place, leaving me with absolutely no chance of prying them out of the walls by hand.

Not that I could even get to the window, seeing as how my wrists had been zip tied together, but not before Greasy had wrapped my one arm around the busted radiator pipe, leaving me unable to even turn sideways, never mind stand.

So lame.

I sat, back to the wall, shoulder against the defunct radiator, my eyes tracking the sliver of sunlight as it slowly crossed the room, the only way I had of marking the passing of the time.

That and my ever increasingly full bladder.

“Hey!” I shouted for what had to have been the fifth time. “Hey! Can one of you goons come and help a girl out!” I could hear Spaz and Greasy moving around in the main room, their heavy footfalls loud in the otherwise quiet forest. But when neither of those sets of footsteps seemed to be headed my direction, I called out again. “Fine! Be that way. But don’t blame me when there’s a mess to clean up!” I huffed, resting my head back against the wall, then muttered to myself. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

Suddenly, I could hear booted feet tromping down the short hall, and I sat up straight, hoping that someone was finally going to take my advice and let me pee.

I was honestly surprised when it was Spaz who pushed the door open, fulling expecting Duke to have been the one to take pity on me.

“Will you shut the fuck up already?” he snarled, his crazy eyes looking at me as though he’d like nothing better than for me to give him a reason to shut me up himself.

“I need to use the facilities,” I said primly, and he sneered.

“Fucking hold it.”

“I have been holding it,” I insisted. “For hours.” When he still made no move to release me, I capitulated. “Please.”

For a moment, I thought he’d still refuse me out of spite, but eventually Spaz huffed out a breath and walked toward me, one hand going to his back pocket and flicking out a knife. It was small, the blade no longer than my finger, but I still flinched, which made Spaz smile.

“Hold still, now,” he said, leaning over me and getting way closer than he had to. I pressed back against the wall, my eyes wide as he ran his tongue over his yellowed teeth. “It’d be a shame to cut that pretty, pretty skin, wouldn’t it?”

It didn’t sound as though he thought it would be a shame at all, and bile churned in my stomach.

I held my breath, the stale sweat smell coming off of him enough to make me gag, and with a quick slide, my hands were free. I pulled my arms in close, rubbing my wrists as best as I could, all the while never taking my eyes off of him.

He stared at me for a beat, leering at my crouched form, before jerking his chin toward the door. “Get moving.”

Climbing to my feet, I made my way out of the room and into the short, narrow hall leading back to the main area. I could see Greasy sprawled out on the couch, one hand flung over his eyes as he snored, but Duke was nowhere in sight. I darted my gaze around the room, trying to see if I could find a phone left unattended, but I was apparently taking too long because I was suddenly shoved heavily in the back, Spaz’s palm smacking hard against my spine as he pushed me into the small, dark bathroom.

“Excuse me?” I sneered when he tried to follow me into the room. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You think I’m gonna leave you alone after the shit you pulled last night?”

“Where exactly do you think I’m going to go?” I asked sarcastically, gesturing to the tiny windowless room behind me; I’d seen refrigerators with more space.

Spaz scowled at me, then the bathroom, then back at me. Finally, he nodded.

“Fine, but be quick. I ain’t got all day to stand out here and wait on you.”

Closing the door in his face, I realized he actually meant to stand right outside the door and wait.

Gross.

Turning on the faucet full blast, I did what I needed to do as fast as possible, then washed my hands and face even though there was no soap to be found. I twisted around, trying to get a look at the cut on my backside, right where my thigh met my butt cheek, but I couldn’t see much on my own. Scooping up come water in my palm, I scrubbed it around on the area a few times, hoping that cleaning it would help stave off any infection, but the skin was pretty tender and warm to the touch.

What I really needed was a tetanus shot.

And a martini.

And a hug.

Trying to shake off the feeling of hopelessness that washed over me, I redid my ponytail and reached for the door handle when a loud thumping noise came from outside the door of the shack.

“What the fuck was that?” Spaz asked, but I didn’t think he was talking to me. Backing away from the door, I pressed against the far wall, listening intently. “Go check it out, Leroy.”

“Why me?” grumbled Greasy, who I guessed was named Leroy.

“Because I’m watching her,” he shot back.

“Fine.”

I could hear Leroy groan as he heaved himself off the couch, then his temper tantrum like stomps out the door before there was only silence.

A sudden pounding on the bathroom door had me jumping nearly out of my skin.

“Move your ass, lady. I got shit to do.”

I opened the bathroom door and slowly stepped outside. Spaz looked even more agitated than he normally did, which was saying something. His eyes darted around the room, and at some point while I was in the bathroom, he had produced a gun, which he now clung to with twitchy fingers.

“About time. Let’s go.” He grabbed my arm, preparing to lead me back down the hall, when another thumping sound rang out, this time from the back of the building. “Jesus fuck. What the hell, Leroy?” he shouted, but there was no response.

Looking around, Spaz dragged me over to the kitchen, hauling one of the rickety chairs against the counter.

“Sit.”

When I did, he reached into his filthy jeans and pulled out a new zip tie. Yanking my wrist, Spaz secured me to the half-moon shaped pull on the kitchen drawer.

“Stay,” he spat, pointing right at my face. “I’ll be right back, so no funny shit.”

With that, he was gone, across the room and out the door, leaving me alone and tied to a kitchen drawer.

“Moron,” I sighed, standing from the chair. Rolling my eyes at his complete idiocy, I pulled the drawer all the way out, lifted it slightly, and disengaged the slide, taking the entire drawer out of the housing. I cringed as a handful of dusty wooden spatulas clattered to the ground, watching the door to see if Spaz would return.

I strained my ears, listening for the sounds of angry man-boys stomping back toward me with their attitudes all out of joint. When nothing happened, I figured I was still in the clear and made my way to the wall of tools I had spotted earlier, snagging the giant knife and the matching sheath beside it, then scrambling back into the corner of the room. Something about having a solid wall behind me made me feel better, like I couldn’t be taken by surprise if there was only one way to access me.

Hefting the drawer on to the worn wooden counter, I lifted the knife, noticing my hand was shaking.

“Deep breaths, girl,” I muttered to myself, trying to slow my breathing and my heart rate. “You got away once, you can do it again.”

I wish I believed me.

Once I felt a little more in control, I held the knife up, my eyes widening at how intimidating it actually was. One side was smooth, and I could tell it was wicked sharp just by the way the light hit the edge. The other side was jagged, the metal teeth looking like some sort of nightmare creature. I could only imagine what that side was used for, and I shook my head to stop the images from piling up, instead focusing on sliding the sharp end along the zip tie and not my flesh.

In no time, I was free again, covering that dangerous blade with the leather sheath and spinning to the door. I had no idea where Spaz and Greasy—uh, Leroy—had gone, but I wasn’t about to wait to find out. Making my way across the room, I froze when I heard quiet footsteps on the stairs outside. Knowing this was the only exit left out of the Ranger Station, I darted to the side, pressing my back against the wall as the doorknob twisted open. The door opened toward me, hiding me behind it as whoever it was slowly entered the room. The first thing I saw was the end of a gun, held tightly in hands that looked like they knew what they were doing. I uncovered the knife again, sliding the sheath into my back pocket and gripping the handle in both hands.

The man at the door continued to enter, now almost fully inside the building, and I knew this was my last chance; if I didn’t get away now, I never would.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted the knife above my head and charged, the scream that left my throat one of pure rage.

The man spun at the last moment, his one hand knocking my arms to the side, the knife tumbling uselessly from my suddenly numb fingers and clattering out the door. His other hand, the hand without the gun, clutched at my throat, his momentum slamming me back against the wall with a grunt.

For a second, it was as if I was seeing a ghost, the image before me so unbelievable that it couldn’t possibly be real. I stared at him, and he stared right back, the single moment feeling like an eternity.

Then he blinked and released my throat, the air flooding back into my lungs as I gasped out his name like a prayer.

He had come for me.

“Silas.”