Page 125 of Punish Me, Daddy

I let out a slow shaky breath, and let my head fall forward slightly. Not in surrender, no; just to ease the tension in my neck.

I needed to figure out a way to get out of here.

My ankles were bound to the legs of the chair. Rope. Not zip ties. Which meant there was a give. I tested it—tiny shifts, just the movement of my toes inside my shoes, the flex of my calves. Nothing yet, but maybe. My hands were tied behind my back at the wrists, the chair design forcing them down low and keeping them immobile. I couldn’t feel the knot, couldn’t even tell if it was standard or something custom, but it was tight.

I shifted again.

The chair creaked. It was metal, cold against the backs of my legs, bolted down or heavy enough not to move easily. Not helpful.

I looked around the room.

No windows. No vents low enough for me to reach. Just four concrete walls, and a single camera in the top corner of the room. It was aimed down and slightly off center; tilted, old, probably analog. Maybe recording, maybe just there to remind me I was being watched or maybe it wasn’t even working at all.

I stared straight at it for a moment.

Let whoever was behind it, if anyone, know that I wasn’t the type of girl to start crying.

I scanned the floor. There was a small stain to my left—coffee? Something darker? A strip of rubber by the door where the sealhad been kicked out. No other furniture. No tools. No exposed screws. The walls were cracked at the base, but only shallow hairlines. The ceiling was too far up to reach, even if I had my legs free.

No weapons.

No resources.

Just me.

And rope.

And time.

I shifted again, testing the pressure around my right wrist. Twisted slightly. Wincing at the burn of rope against my skin as I moved, I felt something move. The knot shifted by a fraction. It wasn’t quite loose, but it certainly wasn’t perfect.

Good.

The lights above buzzed again, louder this time, like a fly against a window.

I thought about Nikolai.

Not the man the press whispered about, but the man who had pressed kisses into my shoulder when he thought I was asleep. The man who had told me he loved me even though I was nothing but trouble.

He would come; of that I had no doubt. But if I could find a way out before he got here, even better.

I tested the rope again—twisting, pulling, biting back a cry as it scraped deeper into my skin. One knot. One weak loop. Onesecond of inattention, and I’d turn the tables, because I wasn’t waiting to be rescued.

I was already planning my escape.

CHAPTER 38

Nikolai

Ivan’s fingers danced over the laptop in front of him, pulling up surveillance feeds, traffic loops, and half a dozen flagged burner routes. Maxim was on the phone with a judge who owed him a favor. Sergei was triple checking the weapons cache. Aleksei was silent, pacing, a blade in one hand.

I stared at the screen like it owed me blood.

“I’ve got something,” Ivan said, voice clipped. “Two vans. Unmarked. One was parked near the venue on a side loop, no plates. Disappeared six minutes after Sloane was last seen on cam.”

“Where did it go?” I asked.

Ivan tapped, zoomed, tracked.

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