Chapter 10: Knot Slips
He didn't look at me anymore. That was the change.
After I said tough wasn't about staying quiet, Enzo had held my eyes like it was a contest. But now he broke it himself. He pushed off the chair, took two steps back, and started pacing. Just a short line, three steps toward the crates and three steps back. His hands were in his pockets, then out. His breathing was still controlled but I could hear it.
That was my window.
I stayed still at first. I let my shoulders slump like I'd given up the point. The warm bulb overhead swung a little every time he passed under it, and the light dragged across the floor. I watched his shoes. When he turned his back to go toward the crates, I tested my right wrist.
We'd rocked the chair earlier. I hadn't thought about it at the time, just trying to shift my weight because my legs were going numb. But that rocking had done something. The thick tan rope around my torso had been looped so tight it bit into my light blue blazer, but around my right wrist, where it crossed behind the chair back, there was a give. A slack no wider than a finger.
I didn't pull. I pressed my thumb against it.
The rope had rubbed raw against my skin there. I could feel the coarse fibers. One loop had slipped, just a fraction, and it left a little pocket of space. If I could work it, slowly, I could make it bigger.
He turned. I stopped moving and looked up at him.
"You think you're tough because you don't hit me," I said. My voice was hoarse. I needed him to keep listening to me instead of looking at my hands.
He stopped pacing. "I don't think. I know."
"So what does that make this? You're just proving you can keep me in a chair?"
He tilted his head. His snake tattoo caught the warm light when he turned his neck. That controlled, intense stare was back, but it was thinner now. He was thinking about what I'd said.
I talked to keep his eyes on my face. While I talked, I worked.
I rolled my right wrist inward, just a millimeter at a time. I found the edge of the loop with my middle finger and started to saw, not pull. Pulling would tighten it. I needed to twist and nudge it looser. The rope was rough and my hands were sweating under it. Every small movement sent a dull ache up my forearm.
"Mary River," he said, like he was testing how my name sounded in that warehouse. "You built a whole reputation on not flinching. I wanted to see if it was real."
"And?" I said. I let a breath shake on purpose. It wasn't hard to fake. "Is this what real looks like to you?"
He stepped closer again, but not all the way. He leaned against a crate, arms crossed. He was watching my mouth, my eyes. Not my wrists. I kept my elbows pinned to my sides so the rope wouldn't shift visibly.
The loop gave a little more. I felt it slip. It wasn't a lot, maybe half an inch of slack feeding from the lower wrap up toward my wrist. I could now rotate my hand a few degrees more. I curled my fingers and tried to get a fingertip under the next coil.
My heart was beating so loud I was sure he could hear it. The cool blue light from the window was hitting the back of his jacket, outlining him, while the warm bulb kept my face lit. I used the mixed light to hide. Shadows fell across my arms.
"You're quiet now," he said.
"I'm thinking," I said. And I was. If I could get one more loop to loosen, I might be able to slide my wrist up and out. But not yet. The main knots were still solid around my torso and left arm. This was only one wrist, only one spot.
I pressed harder, twisting my wrist back and forth in a tiny, invisible motion. The rope burned. I felt the fibers drag and then — a small pop, not a sound, a feeling — as one wrap sagged. The tension around my right forearm eased just enough that I could press my thumb flat against my own wrist where there had been no space before.
I stopped. I didn't want to push it too far and make the rope move where he could see.
He pushed off the crate and came closer, his hand hovering near the rope at my shoulder like he was going to check it. I froze. I held my breath and kept my right hand completely still, fingers relaxed so the slack wouldn't pull taut.
He didn't touch the rope. He just looked down at me, breathing slow through his nose.
"You got something to say?" he asked.
I shook my head. My bob had fallen forward and I let it hide part of my face.
May you like
Inside, I held onto what I'd gained. Half an inch. Maybe more. Not enough to free me. But enough that I knew I could work it again when he looked away. Enough to mean the chair wasn't as solid as he'd made it.
I hadn't gotten out. But I wasn't as tied as I was a minute ago, and he didn't know.
