Page 111 of Fire and Silk
My head jerks toward the sound.
They’re dragging him now. His body hangs limp between two men, head slumped, arms slack. Blood is already trickling from his temple.
My scream is choked behind the tape. I thrash forward.
The ropes tighten again—burning now, searing the skin as I twist against them.
They toss his unconscious body into the truck. He lands beside me, heavy, motionless.
I fall to my knees beside him, twisting to see his face. I cry into the tape, gagging on the sound. My fingers claw at the floor, trying to shift closer to him.
Another hand grabs my shoulder and shoves me down. I collapse beside him, sobbing behind the gag, wrists bound, skin burning. The truck doors slam shut with a cold, final clang. Darkness folds in.
The truck rocks through a turn and I hit the wall again, shoulder-first. The metal floor is cold and stained with oil. My dress sticks to my legs. I shift, twist again, curl forward—my hands numb behind my back, the ropes cutting every time I breathe.
It’s been hours.
My wrists burn.
But I keep pulling.
The rope has slackened, only slightly. The sweat on my skin makes it harder, but the fibers are old, coarse—each grind slices , and I welcome the sting. I brace my knees, press my weight back, and wrench again. The edge of the rope catches flesh. I gasp into the dark.
Something snaps—just enough.
I freeze. Hold my breath.
Then I pull harder.
Another grind. Another inch.
I bite the inside of my cheek, writhing against the resistance. My arms are shaking. My jaw’s clenched so tight it hurts. The blood runs slick down my palms.
Then my right hand slides through.
I suck in a breath. My body curls around itself. I twist fast, pulling my left hand free. The skin is torn. The joints are swollen. But my hands are mine again.
I tear the tape from my mouth.
The adhesive rips skin as it comes off. I cough.
Then I crawl.
Severo is still face down, his body folded against the truck wall, unmoving.
“Sev,” I whisper, voice hoarse.
No response.
I reach for him—my hands shake as I turn his body toward me. His head lolls. His pulse is under his jaw, faint but steady. I pull him into my lap, pressing his face against my chest, my tears falling fast now—hot and thick. They run down my chin, soaking into his shirt. My arms curl around him.
“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m here. Please wake up.”
His eyelids twitch.
I go still.
Then, slowly, they part.
