“Well, I do hope you find her.”
“Won’t be that hard,” Vicky says with a laugh. “She’s Trinity’s next-door neighbor.”
I have to stop myself from jogging back to the car. Cass and Apollo are already inside, Cass at the wheel.
What the hell were they expecting? That I’d come running out with a file under my arm like they’re the getaway car?
I slam the truck’s door, turn to Apollo. “Find Maude Street.” Then to Cass. “I have the address to her old house.”
Cass puts the car in gear, staring at Apollo in the rear-view mirror.
I don’t know why we’re all so strung out, but I can feel the seconds streaming by as Apollo searches.
“Turn around,” Apollo says. “Then take the first left.”
Cass stomps on the gas and throws the car into a wide arc that leaves tire marks on the road. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I’d told him not to rush. But maybe it’s a good thing. If Vicky calls the police and sends them to Maude street, they might get there before we do.
I don’t know what we’ll find there, but something’s telling me we have to hurry.
“Faster,” I tell Cass.
He doesn’t say anything, but he skips the next light regardless of the fact that it’s been red since it came in sight.
I guess it’s a good thing this is a quiet part of town and there weren’t any cars on the road. The only one in sight, in fact, is a white Hyundai.
But I don’t think it would have mattered.
We’re on a mission from God.
Chapter Sixteen
Trinity
The urge to start feeling sorry for myself is back, and twice as strong as before. Honest to God, I don’t know how the Brotherhood did it. I’ve been tied to a rusty bed in my family’s basement for what feels like days, and I’m about ready to lose my mind.
The rats don’t help. I can’t see them, only hear them, and that makes it worse somehow.
Gabriel turned the lights off before he left. Something about the dark helping me find the light I was so desperately seeking.
I should have known he had me figured out. I mean, he’d told me so himself. I’d never considered myself an optimist, so I guess I’m just naive then. A hopeless romantic—
Gah!
I cut off the thought with a grimace. That’s what he’d said when he’d been talking about my parents. And God he’d even sounded a little lovesick.
Which makes me feel sick.
I test the ropes again, rattling the metal bed frame, but they’re as tight and unyielding as the previous thousand times.
All this time I was living right above this room, and I had no idea.
Rattle. Squeak.
He’s coming back. And soon. He doesn’t have to—I’m sure he thinks I’m pretty secure—but it was the way he said those words.
You should pray, Trinity. Pray to God for forgiveness.
Forgiveness? How fucking dare he? I don’t believe for a second he wasn’t a key player in this whole thing. Of course he’d try and shift the blame—he’ll die a horrible death in prison. And it’s not like my parents can testify against him.
Rattle, rattle, SQUEAK.
I stop moving. That last squeak sounded different. Like something was giving.
Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle—
The part of the bed frame designed to hold the mattress collapses under me. Pain dashes through my wrists and ankles as I’m suddenly suspended limb from limb in the air. I gasp, let out a breath, inhale deep. When I squirm, my butt barely brushes the mattress under me.
Fuck.
My wrists ache and burn where the ropes are cutting into me. My left hand especially—there’s a dull, thumping ache coming from the base of my thumb, as if the sudden tensing on the ropes did some serious damage.
As soon as I can breathe through the pain, I start shifting again, tugging at the ropes.
I’m loathe to try with my left because it already hurts so much. I go around again. Right hand, right foot, left foot. Nothing. The bed’s posts are still rooted to the spot. Nothing seems to have changed except the fact that I might have a dislocated thumb.
My left hand aches even more, as if thinking about it aggravates the injury.
Huh. Houdini would pull off a famous escape like this in the blink of an eye. But those were all tricks. Wasn’t he double-jointed or something? He could put his shoulder out of its socket and—
My eyes swivel to my left hand. In the dark, I can’t see anything.
Oh God.
No.
Can I?
It’s already hurting so much…
But what if I managed to dislocate my thumb? Then I could slip my hand out of that rope, right?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to build up some courage.
My thumb is probably already pretty malleable. All I need to do is pull it through the noose. It’ll hurt, duh, but maybe not as much as earlier. And the pain is—
Pretty fucking unbearable. And the agonizing ache is only getting worse the longer I linger on this stupid plan.
But it is a plan.
And it might even work.
And then I’d be free, no longer hanging here on my strings waiting for the puppet master to return.
I don’t even know what he went to go and do. Is he trashing another room? Oiling himself up? Lying in my parents’ bed and—
Fuck! Those thoughts are not in the least helpful.
Breathe.
You can do this.
Oh Lord, I hope I can do this.
I grit my teeth.
I hold my breath.
And I slowly start pulling on my left hand.
The pain in my thumb immediately intensifies a million-fold. I start shaking internally, my body fighting with me to stop the torture, but I can’t.
I won’t.
I keep picturing the Brotherhood. Determination gleaming in their eyes. The things they’d say to me right now if they knew I was considering defeat.
But the pain gets worse, and the rope isn’t budging. Pain wells, and with it comes a wave of frustration. I pull harder, the tears that brim and then leak down my face not even blurring my vision. Or maybe they do, I can’t tell in the dark.
“Ah!” The yell doesn’t echo. This small chamber is too well insulated.
But as I yell, I jerk on my arm as hard as I can.
Agony bursts into my hand. For a second, I’m convinced I’ve torn off my thumb.
I scream twice, first at that jolt of pain, and then again when my hand drops onto the mattress below me. I drag my hand onto my chest, cradling it against my chin as I let out a ragged sob. I start panting through my mouth as I try to get a handle on the pain.
That hurt more than the lashes I got from Miriam combined with Zachary’s spanking.
I force my breathing to slow. Imagine the pain leaving my body with every exhale.
My hand’s hot and throbbing, but eventually the pain recedes enough that I can think past it.
With the restraint freed, my shoulder is on the mattress now.
I laugh when I realize I have to try and untie the knot around my right hand with a hand that now sports a dislocated thumb.
Oh Lord, how I laugh.
But then I stop. And I grit my teeth.
And I push through the pain.
Somehow, using my other fingers, tearing off nails, wailing through the pain, I manage to loosen the knot.