Reese (Pack of Misfits #2) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,93

of his hand.

Yeah, that’ll do it. And it brings up memories of all the times he did it before.

“It doesn’t matter,” he seethes. “I’ll lock you away where no one can find you. You’re not escaping me again.”

He turns and stalks away, slamming the wooden door behind him. Plaster cracks from the force, sending a spray of dust down from the ceiling while my head lolls on my chest, the room spinning.

It takes a few minutes for the dizziness and the intense pain to subside enough for me to pick my head up and take stock of my surroundings again. I have no idea if Luca and the others are okay. I have no idea if anyone knows where I am. The longer Sid has me, the less chance I have of making it out of this alive. I have to get free.

Aside from peeling linoleum, the drippy sink, the shower that looks like it hasn’t seen bleach since the fifties, this place is empty. There’s nothing I can use for a weapon. Except...I look down where my legs are tied to the toilet, and that’s when I see it.

I groan at the universe. Because really, why does this have to be my luck? Why is it that the only thing within reach is a nasty ass plunger that I’m pretty sure has poop stains on it?

Poop. Stains.

I know I’m in mortal peril, but dammit, did my rock bottom really need me tied to a toilet next to a shit-stained plunger?

I eye it warily. The plunger looks back at me mockingly, like, “Yeah, bitch, you want a weapon? Here I am. Gonna get Eli tho, LOL.”

Fuck you, plunger.

With a steadying breath, I force myself to think through this. I can’t shift. I have no idea what happened once I got knocked out during the car crash—a crash that was no doubt caused by Sid. I don’t know if Hugo felt the bond trying to be overthrown, but other than that, my new packmates won’t have any clue where I am. I don’t even know where I am. Which means I’m on my own.

Shit plunger it is.

But first, I have to get my damn hands free. The cord wrapped around me is forcing me to hunch forward slightly, but I realize that there are no knots—just loops wrapped around me. If I can somehow yank one hand free, I can pull my other hand out and then it will be loose enough to get my legs out.

Easier said than done.

The cord is made of some kind of metal wire, and it chafes like a motherfucker. I’m bound so tightly that trying to pull a single hand free makes me grit my teeth in pain, which only makes my jaw hurt worse.

I know the rest of me is injured in various spots too, judging by my headache and other throbbing spots from the car crash, but I don’t have the time to let myself heal. I have no idea what Sid is doing out there, but I have a feeling I want to be free by the time he comes back.

After just a minute of trying, my hands are red, the wrists already raw from the strain of working to pull them free. “Come on, Reese,” I mumble to myself. I will not be forced into Sid’s control again. I will not let him keep me.

I take a deep breath, try to plant my feet, and pull back on my left hand as hard as I can. More layers of skin are ripped away as I pull. I have to breathe like I’m giving birth to force myself to keep going. Bit by tiny bit, it moves, until the cord is holding onto my wrist for dear life.

My back screams with strain, my entire body weight pulls on my wrist, and I whisper-scream through my teeth as I manage to pull my hand the rest of the way out.

I fall backwards a little, my ass landing with a splash into the toilet water. Droplets fly up and smack me in the face. Cheese and shitty ass mice. Disgusting.

I lift myself back up, slipping once and making more water go flying. Cursing a vicious stream of profanity under my breath, I get up, slip my right hand out of the bindings, and then start to unwind the cord from around my legs.

I get up as soon as I can, my thighs barking from the awkward position in which I was forced to straddle