I’m led off the plane, but I don’t see Milo anywhere. I’m thrown into the backseat of a car this time, instead of a trunk, and a hood is tied over my head. I growl, not because of the darkness but because not being able to see will affect my ability to find Milo’s weaknesses. I won’t know the path to his mansion. I won’t know how many guards stand outside or what security system he uses or where the cameras face.
Milo won’t let his team remove the hood until I’m locked inside. I know because it is what I would do if I was holding someone prisoner.
By the time the car stops, I’m exhausted from traveling. My arms ache from being tied behind me. My legs feel heavy from the steel weighing them down.
But it doesn’t stop my determination to find a way to destroy this man and keep Kai safe.
The hood isn’t removed when we stop. Instead, I’m pulled from the car and walked into the house.
I try to make a move to shake the hood off, but the men are prepared for my sudden flailing and hold it firmly on top of my head. I know I won’t be feeling the warmth of the sun for a long time.
I counted the turns as we drove from the airport to the house. There are only six turns. But that doesn’t do me a lot of good when I don’t know which street to turn on.
And I do the same with my steps. Fifteen steps from the doorway before we turn left. Twenty-three steps until we turn right. Four steps until we hit a door. The door is thick and creaky from the force required to open it and the slamming sound it makes when it’s shut. Twelve steps down, the fourth and tenth both make creaking noises when stepped on.
I feel the light through the house as I walk until I hit the stairs. Each step gets darker and darker. And once I hit the last step, I know where I am. Underground where there are no windows and no lights on.
I see the glow of light to my right and suspect that one of the men leading me has turned the flash on his phone on to see where we are going.
Eight steps until we stop again. I hear the cling of a key go into a door and then it opens.
My hood is finally removed as I’m pushed inside the cell—one with bars and everything. The floor is made of concrete. There is a toilet in the corner, a tattered mattress with a pillow and thin blanket, and a hose for water in the corner. For most people this would be their hell, but it’s nicer than the rooms my father kept me in. It has all the basic necessities.
I step inside, but the ropes and chains aren’t removed.
And the door doesn’t close. Which means the men are waiting for something. And I have a feeling I know what that is.
I hear the footsteps of his boots. I examine my surroundings for any sort of weapon. But the best weapon is my own boot and the concrete walls and floor. Everything can be used as a weapon. You don’t need a knife or gun to take down your enemy. You don’t need your hands or feet. You need determination and the will to never give up. No matter how bloodied, beaten, or pained you are. You never give up.
My father drilled that into me so many times I will never forget it. My body doesn’t have a choice but to fight. I don’t stop, even if I want to. And Milo Wallace is about to figure out just how big of a mistake it is to step into my cell.
“Leave us,” I hear his voice behind me, but I don’t turn around. My toes dig into my shoes, gripping them trying to calm myself. I’m supposed to be on Milo’s side. I’m supposed to show him how willing I am to do whatever he wants. Instead, I want to murder him.
The men slowly walk up the stairs, and I hear the loud clank of the door shutting and locking as Milo enters.
“You and I have some unfinished business,” Milo says.
I don’t react. I don’t give him any clues of how I’m going to respond. He thinks he has the advantage because my arms are tied behind my back, and my legs are weighed down. He thinks he could easily get me to stop attacking because of the knives on his body or the gun he could aim at my head.
He’s wrong.
None of those things will stop me once I start. Only death will stop me.
Closer, closer, closer he steps.
The sound is faint against the concrete, but I know exactly how far behind me he stands. Close enough I could elbow him in the nose and get a quick kick to the groin in before he can recover.
Restraint, I wait. I won’t make the first move. But he will. Even though it’s not a fair fight. Even though I’m tied up and he’s free. Even though he’s facing my back instead of my face like a man.
I grin.
Milo is evil. He was taught how to fight by getting the upper hand. I was taught to fight after I had already lost.
He swings, his shadow confirms it as I duck, turning to face him with a cocky glow in my eyes.
He narrows his gaze to hide his surprise in me ducking and missing his first hit.
“You should have kept your goons with you if you wanted to beat me to a pulp,” I say, smirking while trying to undo the knots holding my hands together.