Page 107 of Stolen Empire
Just a fraction.
So I keep going, my breath coming in short gasps through my nose.
The gag muffles every sound.
Tears stream down my face, mixing with the blood.
My left hand slips.
Not free, but closer, so I twist again, biting down on the gag to keep from crying out.
The skin on my wrist splits.
Fresh blood flows, but the rope gives more.
One more pull.
One more—and my hand comes free.
I slump forward, gasping.
My right hand is still bound, but I can reach it now.
I fumble with the knots, my fingers clumsy and slick with blood.
It takes forever, but finally, the rope falls away.
I pull the gag from my mouth, coughing and spitting.
The taste of blood and grease makes me retch.
My stomach churns and twists, and I vomit all over the concrete under me until there's nothing left in my stomach.
I sit there for a moment, shaking, trying to catch my breath.
My wrists are raw, bleeding.
My face feels swollen, the cut on my cheek still oozing.
But I'm free.
I stand on unsteady legs, gripping the back of the chair for support.
The room spins, so I close my eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
When I open them, I focus on the door, only to find it locked.
There has to be another way out.
I scan the room.
The walls are concrete, no windows.
The only furniture is the chair and the table.
I move to the table, searching for anything useful.
A screwdriver.
