Page 50 of Captive Prize

His brow scrunched as he tried to figure out what he was looking at.

Time to move.

“Help,” I gasped.

He sneered. “You did that to yourself. You can stay there.”

“Help,” I said again, choking the word out. “I…I can’t breathe—something’s wrong…I think?—”

The words dissolved into coughs. Choking sounds.

That fall had knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t have to fake much.

He hesitated again.

I had him.

The weak link in any operation was always the human element.

And men—especially men like this—were genetically wired to respond to a damsel in distress.

At least, if they weren’t the ones causing it.

I didn’t need him to save me. Just hesitate.

He stood there, staring at me. Then back at the door. Then back at me.

Too much indecision.

I had to sell it.

I lurched forward, my arms twisting at odd angles, trembling like I was about to seize.

The fear hit his eyes.

Instinct was winning. And logic had already left the building.

If I died on his watch, Roman would put him in the ground.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Hang on.”

He knelt beside me, placing his gun on the floor as he rushed to undo the restraints.

The moment my wrists were free, I moved.

My hand closed around the heavy bronze double eagle figurine that had fallen from the desk.

One brutal swing.

His head snapped back. He collapsed in a heap. A thin trail of blood trickled from his temple onto the floor.

I didn’t wait.

I grabbed the key, unlocked my ankles, took the gun, and slipped into the hallway.

Empty. Silent.

My shoulder throbbed. My heart pounded in my ears.

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