Chapter 13: Rope Burned Before He Turned
Enzo turned toward crates. Not far. Just half step, shoulders angled away, eyes dropping to dark space behind stacked wood where my phone had disappeared earlier. He exhaled hard through nose. Frustrated. Negotiation dead and he knew it.
I felt slack still hidden at right wrist. Small gift from earlier shift. Rope had loosened one fraction when I twisted against chair rail. Not enough to show. Enough to work.
I didn't breathe loud. Didn't look down. Kept eyes on his back, on snake tattoo curling up right side of neck, black ink catching warm bulb light. He muttered something low I couldn't catch, hand flexing at side.
That was window. Narrow and closing.
I pulled.
First tug gentle. Rope dragged across skin. Tan fibers rough, dry heat building fast. Burn started immediate. Sharp, thin line of fire around wrist bone. I gritted teeth and kept face still. Second tug harder, wrist twisting inward toward chair joint, trying to walk loop over knuckle. Movement tiny but rope shifted. One loop gave. Just one. Enough slack to slide thumb forward.
Chair creaked.
Wood old, joints loose. Right front leg lifted fraction then thumped back. Loud in dim warehouse. Echo off beams.
Enzo heard. Head snapped around.
He stared at my hands. At rope. Realization clicked behind eyes. Control slipped.
"What are you doing," he said. Not question. Warning.
I didn't answer. Couldn't waste second. Pulled again, harder now, skin screaming. Rope burned deeper, left red raw streak. Loop slipped another inch. Right hand wrenched halfway free, fingers tingling, palm able to flex.
Enzo lunged.
Two steps and he was on me. Hand shot to rope at my shoulder, other hand slamming against chair back to pin it. Chair scraped backward across concrete, legs screeching. Overhead bulb swayed, light swinging, shadows jumping across crates and his face.
I had choice. Fight or talk. Half second to decide.
Talk had failed. Negotiation dead, he'd said no to every exchange I'd offered. But my arm not fully free yet. One arm half loose, left still bound tight, torso still wrapped. If I fought now he'd just re-secure and I'd lose hidden slack forever. If I talked I might keep partial freedom hidden longer.
His grip tightened on rope, trying to pull slack back. Knuckles white, breath heavy now, controlled demeanor cracked. Snake tattoo stretched as neck corded.
"Don't," he said, voice low, close to my ear. "Mary. Don't make me tie it tighter."
I looked up at him. Tears still there but different now. Not just fear. Heat.
"I wasn't going to wait for you to decide I'm tough enough," I said. My voice shook but held. "You wanted to see it. So watch."
He leaned weight into chair, forearm pressing against rope across my chest, pinning. His face inches from mine. I could smell clean cotton of black shirt, faint sweat underneath.
My right hand worked underneath, hidden by angle of his arm. Fingers found rough edge of rope, pushed. Loop slipped finally over thumb. Hand free to wrist. Still trapped under outer wrap but loose, able to curl, able to grab.
He didn't see. Yet.
He stared hard, breathing matching mine, trying to read what I'd do. His other hand moved to re-loop rope around my wrist, to undo what I'd done.
I had to decide before his fingers closed.
If I grabbed his wrist now, we struggled. If I stayed still, he re-tied tighter and opportunity gone.
I flexed freed fingers once. Rope burn throbbed. Chair creaked again under his weight. Cool blue window light cut across floor behind him, warm bulb swinging overhead throwing light then shadow then light across his dark wavy hair.
May you like
His hand reached for my right wrist.
I made choice.
