Taking several deep breaths, I push past the hurt, moving my other wrist out of the loosened ropes. Much more slowly, I pull my arm forward, wincing through the ache in that shoulder. Rolling my head and shoulders to loosen them, I take a few more breaths.
“Okay, Joslyn. You can do this.”
Bending forward and leaning to the right, I work on my right ankle restraints. My fingers are slippery from the blood that coats them, and I immediately become frustrated with how tight the knots are. I break several nails trying to loosen them, and a string of curses fly out of my mouth.
But I don’t give up. Kynan would not want me to give up.
Time has no concept. It could’ve taken me thirty seconds or thirty minutes, but I eventually manage to pull the last rope off my ankles. I immediately lurch up from the chair, then regret it as a wave of dizziness hits me. My stomach rolls, and I sink back onto the wooden seat. I focus on the bright beam of horizontal light that represents the door out of my prison.
Taking a deep breath, I rise slowly once more. I take a tentative step, then another, with my arms stretched in front of me until I reach the door. Remembering the switch is no more than a foot off from the hinge, I let my fingers feel around the cold metal wall until I find it. When the bulb illuminates, I take a second to issue a prayer of thanks. Then I pivot and scan the storage container, taking in everything I could not see the first time the man was here.
The hair on the nape of my neck rises at what I see behind the chair I was tied to.
A hospital bed pushed flush against the back wall, which is accompanied by stirrups that stand out lewdly from the bottom corners. Next to it is a surgical tray on a rolling cart. Upon the tray is a slew of metal implements—scalpels, ice picks, and pliers are only the beginning. On the wall are two wooden shelves containing a variety of sex toys, whips, and chains.
A full-body shudder overtakes me as the magnitude of what this man intends to do to me hits. It’s a torture I had not ever dared to imagine. A wave of sheer and utter panic to escape slices through me. I turn and bolt for the door, relieved to see the lock is a two-sided bar that just lifts up. It’s hinged through a hole in the door, meaning when I lift it from this side, it will mimic a bar on the outside. I have no clue if it’s locked, but I reach out to give it a go.
Then I freeze. I have no clue what’s on the other side.
It could be my attacker with that amused fucking smile on his face, just waiting for me to walk right through and into his arms.
Spinning around, I take in the interior once more. I specifically search for my clothing, but I don’t see any of it. What I do see, though, are several weapons I can use to defend myself. I rush over to the surgical tray, immediately grabbing one of the ice picks. For some reason, I decide that’s not good enough and return it, picking up a scalpel instead. I have no experience with which to go on, but something tells me I’ll have an easier time slicing rather than stabbing.
Just as I’m about to turn for the door, something on one of the shelves catches my eye. A Taser. I recognize it because I have one in my house. I lunge for it, grabbing the base and holding it up to the light so I can examine it.
Yes, it will work nicely.
I carefully push the scalpel into the front of my bra, right at the center of my chest. It’s the tightest spot that will hopefully hold the weapon in place in case I need it later. Gripping the Taser in my dominant hand, I make for the door once more.
My fingers wrap around the iron bar that keeps the door closed. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and lift the bar. It screeches, metal against metal, but eventually slides free. The door pushes open just a few inches.
I refuse to shut my eyes against the bright light because I need to be prepared in case he is nearby. I wait for several seconds, braced for him to rush me, but nothing happens. Pushing the door open a little wider, I see an expanse of forest. Mostly Coulter pines along with some oak and bay laurel.
I take a tentative step out of the shipping container, my bare feet feeling the pinch of rocks, sticks, and the undergrowth of the forest.