I don’t bother giving him an answer; he already knows I will. I toss the phone back to him and stride away from the elevator, fishing my own device out of my pockets and dialing the one person that I know can help me find a lost soul in the sea of the city.
“Hello?”
Archer Arco’s voice fills my ear as I approach my car.
“It’s Killian,” I state as I slide into the driver’s seat, “I need your help.”
4
CARA
If they think plying me with bread and water will make me feel better in any way, they are terribly misguided. Noah had left some time ago - I don’t know how long it’s been, but a stiff ache has developed in my shoulders, and my ass is numb from being stuck in this damn chair. The time alone did give me some time to think but staying positive has been difficult when I have no idea how long I’ve been here, where Killian is, or the state of the world outside this room.
They could be killing each other right now, for all I know.
And I’m trapped here.
The walls warp and shift every so often as if they’re about to close in around me. Each time the walls of my coffin start to form around me, my breath traps in my throat, and I have to close my eyes and count in order to remain calm. With no one to direct my anger toward, the fear sweeps in fast.
However, the anger swells pretty quickly whenever someone comes to visit me, and like armor, it wraps around my heart the moment Noah steps back through the door. He’s carrying a small bottle of water and what looks like a packet sandwich.
Great. At least I won’t starve to death.
He dares to give me a small, polite smile, and instantly my blood runs hot.
“I brought you something to eat,” he states, stopping close to me and holding out the items. The water I’ll be grateful for, anything to soothe the burn in my throat and the stale, lingering taste of bile. I had a small note of satisfaction watching him clean up that mess. The water might even help soothe the throb at the back of my skull that has, thankfully, dulled to a quiet ache so long as I don’t make any sudden movements.
He stands there, and I lift a brow, glaring.
“What am I supposed to do, inhale it from your hands?”
Noah slowly realizes the bindings keeping me trapped prevents me from taking his weakpeace offering,and he dares to let out a light laugh as he kneels down onto the stone and sets the items aside.
“Oh, right,” he says softly, and despite the intensity of my glare, he starts to unknot the rope around my right wrist.
Is this my chance?
Be patient; wait until he’s done more.
This could be it though. If he unties both my wrists and I catch him by surprise, maybe I can knock him down, undo the rest of the bonds and get out of here myself. It’s possible, right? Noah’s already shown to be a bit of a wet blanket despite being behind my kidnapping - he’s brought me food, for crying out loud. It’s as if he feels guilty.
The thought of escape weaves through my mind like a deafening mantra, and I almost miss the fact that he’s talking to me. I curl my hands into fists, and as the bindings around my right wrist fall free, my next breath is clearer than before.
“I wasn’t sure what kind of things you would like to eat,” Noah says, oblivious to my internal fire. “Not that there’s a lot to choose from around here.” He works on my left wrist, and I stare down at him, working to control my breathing.
I want to remain calm. I want to be smart about this. But I fail.
The moment the rope falls free of my left wrist, heat surges through my veins. It’s so hot that it feels like I might explode if I don’tdosomething, so I lash out. My right fist connects solidly with his jaw; I throw my whole weight behind the punch, all my anger too. He’s definitely not expecting it, and he stumbles to the left with his eyes wide, mouth agape as I follow through with another punch, this time from my left. The heat crawling in my veins forces me to move, and I can’t stop. I can’t spend anothersecondin this suffocating room.
“Cara!” Noah yells at me as he narrowly dodges my next punch. A yell of frustration erupts forward, and I lash out again with my right fist, only for him to grab my wrist and slam it back down onto the armrest.
“No!” I screech, “you can’t keep me here!”
I bring my left hand down on his back again and again as he fights my struggles and rebinds my right wrist back into its prison. The moment the rope seals tight around my joint, pulled tighter now to calm my efforts, the walls start to close in. He yells at me, but the words don’t make it past the pounding of my heart in my own ears or the desperate sounds of my fearful pants as I squirm, twist, and fight while he reties my left wrist back into place.
Fuck.
He stumbles away from me when I’m secure and I can see his mouth moving, but I care little for what he’s saying. The surge in movement has brought the pain in my skull back to a pounding beat that rattles through my teeth, and my ankles scream out in burning heat from being rubbed raw in my struggles.