Contract Killer
She didn’t give a shit about the food or anything else that concerned Rye. What she cared about was escaping and helping out the men that the psychotic doctor was performing experiments on.
“Wait,” she said to the young man. He looked nervous whenever he came in here, and she thought maybe he’d be a weaker opponent, someone that she could actually fight to get her freedom. The other guards were big, mean, and always had this scowl on their faces.
She stood and took a couple of steps toward him, noticing how he did glance at her then, and how his body had tensed. She’d been watching him every time he came to her room, noticing a guard right outside before the door closed and automatically locked.
“I need to get out of here,” she said in a soft voce so the guard she knew was on the other side couldn’t hear them.
The young man didn’t speak.
“Do you realize he’s keeping me here against my will?”
Again no answer.
“Do you understand the atrocious things he’s doing to people, and that you’re an accessory to it all?”
He’d looked at the ground again, refusing to keep eye contact with her.
“Look at me, you weak asshole.”
He did lift his head again, but there was only nervousness on his face. “I work for the doctor in whatever way he way needs.”
Asshole.
Okay, so the prick wasn’t going to help her. She’d have to go to the next plan she’d been thinking about since she was put in this new room. It might not work—no, it probably wouldn’t work—but she had to try something. Sitting here and waiting to be used was not an option. Her father would want her to fight, to kick ass if she could.
“Can I get a pitcher of water?”
He gave a brisk nod, and then turned around knocked on the door, signaling the guard he was ready to get out. He left without a backward glance. There was no handle on the inside, and she’d been watching his routine when he left, knowing he had no keys on him, and if she wanted out she’d have to make a plan.
Even though her room was more furnished than her last dwelling, it still held the bare minimum when it came to furniture, especially things she’d want to use as a weapon. Aside from the bed, a dresser that was far too heavy for her to move on her own, and a chair, which had been bolted down to the ground by the window, there was nothing else.
Even the bathroom attached to the room didn’t have anything she could use. The mirror was reflective plastic, and the back of the toilet didn’t even have the lid on it, which was one of the first things she’d checked since it was heavy enough to do some damage to someone.
Looking down at the tray, she saw the plastic utensils and the plastic cup. Yeah, those would be unless. Ten minutes later, the guy came back in her room with a plastic pitcher filled with water.
He handed her the pitcher, and she felt the heaviness in her hand. Her heart was beating so fast, and she knew that even though this might not work, she had to at least try to get away. He nodded, and turned away. She gripped the handle of the pitcher, her muscles tensing, her breathing becoming faster.
“Excuse me?”
He turned around, and that was when she reared her arm back and slammed the pitcher against the side of his head. The plastic cracked and water splashed everywhere. He stared at her, stunned for a moment, his eyes wide, his mouth parting open.
She balled her hand into a tight fist and swung out. She’d never hit anyone before, and when her hand connected with his jaw she gasped in pain.
His head cocked back, and blood started tracking down his temple from where she’d knocked him in the head with the pitcher. His gaze turned distant before he fell to the ground.
Can it be that easy?
But she wasn’t a fool, because even if this asshole was out she still had to worry about the guy on the other side of the door, and possibly more down the hall.
Her heart was working overtime as she stared at the closed door, praying the guard hadn’t heard the commotion. Several seconds went by, and she breathed out in temporary relief. She grabbed his ankles and pulled him toward the other side of the bed and placed him there so he wouldn’t be seen if someone came in.
Knocking on the door, she kept her mouth shut and her body on alert. Looking over her shoulder, she could just barely see the feet of the man she’d knocked out peeking out, and hoped that would give the guard that came in pause.
A second later her door opened, and she pressed herself against the wall behind the door. The door blocked her from the guard’s view as he walked in, but when he came into view and saw the feet he rushed toward the bed.