Bind Me(Capture Me: Book 2)(29)

“Yeah, well, that’s my job.” She shrugs, then adds, “Though you’re probably right—I think Señor Esguerra is hoping to impress Nora’s parents tomorrow night.”

“Hmm-mm.” I finish the rest of the sandwich in three bites and put the cheese back in the refrigerator. “Have a good night, Rosa,” I say, turning to leave.

“You too.” She watches me walk out of the room, her expression oddly tense, but I’m too tired to wonder about what’s on her mind.

When I get to my room, I take a quick shower and fall into bed. Surprisingly, sleep doesn’t come right away. Instead, I lie awake for several minutes, tossing and turning on a king-sized mattress that feels cold and far too empty.

It’s been less than a day, and I already miss Yulia.

Two weeks, I tell myself. I just need to get through the next two weeks. Then I’ll be home, and Yulia will be in my arms every night again.





34





Yulia



I stare at the dark ceiling, unable to close my eyes despite the late hour. It’s strange being in Lucas’s bed without him… feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs anchoring me to the bedside pole instead of to his wrist. I’ve gotten used to sleeping tucked into his large warm body, and even with the blanket drawn up to my chin, I feel cold and exposed as I lie there alone, trying to relax enough to go to sleep.

Diego and Eduardo have been good jailers so far. They adhered to the routine Lucas must’ve laid out to them, letting me eat, stretch, use the restroom, and read in the comfortable armchair. They also kept me company at mealtimes, though I suspect the food I cooked had a lot to do with that. By the time our dinner was over, I decided that I like both of them—as much as it’s possible to like mercenaries whose job is to keep you captive. Rosa was right about them being good guys; under different circumstances, we might’ve been friends.

I hope Lucas won’t punish them too harshly for my escape—assuming I succeed tomorrow, that is.

Thinking about tomorrow chases away whatever little sleepiness I was beginning to feel. To alleviate my anxiety, I mentally go over the details of my plan again. It’s simple: Right after lunch, I’ll use the tools Rosa gave me to free myself and make a run for the northern border of the estate, where the guards at North Tower Two might be distracted with their poker game. Diego and Eduardo will be at that poker game, so they won’t come looking for me until after six p.m. By then, I’ll be on the delivery truck—which, hopefully, will be far away from Esguerra’s compound at that point.

If all goes well, tomorrow evening I will no longer be Lucas Kent’s prisoner.

I should be excited, but instead, there’s a hollow ache in my chest. The dream from last night—if it was a dream—is still painfully vivid in my mind. For a brief moment, I forgot who we are, what passed between us, and I told Lucas something I didn’t know myself until that moment.

“Do you hate me?” he asked, and like an idiot, I said I loved him.

I admitted my terrible, irrational weakness to a man who’s hurt me with every weapon I’ve given him.

Maybe I didn’t say the words out loud. Maybe it was a dream—or, more precisely, a nightmare. Except if that’s the case, why did Lucas bring up last night when he was telling me goodbye? Why did he say that he’ll miss me?

Groaning, I turn onto my side and punch the pillow with my free hand. I must be sick, or at least brainwashed by my captivity. I can’t be in love with a man who intends to destroy my brother.

I can’t be the idiot who’s fallen for a killer with an ice rock instead of a heart.

I’ll miss you.

His deep voice whispers through my mind, and I squeeze my eyelids together, trying to shut it out. Whatever I’m feeling, whether it’s love or temporary insanity, will pass once I’m far away from here.

I have to believe that, so I can focus on my escape.



* * *



Breakfast and lunch drag by with agonizing slowness. By the time Diego and Eduardo tie me to the armchair and leave, I’m ready to jump out of my skin. I hope they couldn’t tell how anxious I am; I did my best to act normal, but I don’t know if I succeeded.

After I hear the front door close behind them, I sit quietly for a few minutes, making sure they’re not coming back. When I’m satisfied that my jailers are gone, I begin to move. My heart is beating in a fast, desperate rhythm, and my palms are sweating as I carefully reach into the chair cushions for the items Rosa gave me.

I fish out the hairpin first. With the ropes securing my upper arms to the chair, my range of motion is limited, but I manage to stick the pin into the lock of the cuffs. I’m far from an expert lock picker, but they taught us this during training, so after a few failed attempts, I succeed in opening the cuffs.

The razor blade is next. With my hands no longer stuck together, I wedge the tiny blade under the ropes around my upper arms and saw through them. It’s not an easy task—I’m bleeding from several cuts by the time I’m done with one thick rope—but I’m determined, and ten minutes later, I’ve sawed through enough ropes to be able to wiggle out of the chair.

Step one of the plan complete.

Next, I rush to the kitchen and grab two water bottles and a few energy bars I found in one of the cabinets. I don’t expect to be in the jungle for long, but it’s best to be prepared. At this time of day, the heat could dehydrate me in a matter of hours. I also take the sharpest kitchen knife I can find and slip the razor blade and the hairpin into the pocket of my shorts, just in case. I put the food and the knife in a backpack I find in Lucas’s closet, and then I head for the door in Lucas’s bedroom—the one that leads to the backyard and the jungle beyond.

Holding my breath, I open the door and scan the area. There’s no sign of the guards, and all I hear are the usual nature noises.

So far, so good.

I step outside and close the door behind me. A wave of humid heat washes over me, making my clothes stick to my skin. I was right to take those water bottles. I’ll have to go north for two and a half miles and then west along the river to reach the dirt road Rosa mentioned, and I’ll need to drink on the way.

Taking a breath to steady my nerves, I head toward the trees behind the house. My sneakers—the footwear Lucas got me for our walks—make almost no noise as I enter the thick jungle, and I exhale in relief as the canopy of trees closes over my head, concealing me from any potential eyes in the sky.

Now I need to get to the border and locate the road by which the delivery truck will be leaving the estate at some point after three p.m.

Sweat gathers under my arms and drips down my back as I walk briskly, trying not to step on any insects or snakes. Thin tree, thick tree, a cluster of bushes, a fallen log—these landmarks are how I track my progress. Focusing on my immediate surroundings helps me not think about the drones that might be hovering overhead or the guard towers I’ll have to pass on my way to the border. Rosa told me North Tower Two is the one where the guards play poker, but I have no idea how I’ll distinguish between that tower and some other one.

If there’s a North Tower Two, there must be a North Tower One, and if I stumble upon the wrong tower, I’m screwed.

After a half hour, I take out the first bottle and gulp down most of the water, then wipe the sweat off my face with the bottom of my shirt. Even in the shorts and skimpy tank top I’m wearing, the heat is difficult to bear.

Just a little longer, I tell myself. It can’t be that far to the river now. I just need to reach it and then follow it west until I get to the road.

It’s at most another half hour of walking.

“Alto!”

At the harshly yelled Spanish command, I freeze, instinctively raising my hands. The water bottle falls out of my nerveless fingers. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The male voice barks another command at me, and I turn around slowly on the assumption that that’s what he told me to do.

A dark-haired musclebound man is standing a couple of meters in front of me, his M16 pointed at my chest. He’s dressed in camouflage pants and a sleeveless shirt, and I see a radio hanging on his hip.

It’s one of the guards. He must’ve been patrolling the forest and spotted me.

I’m so, so fucked.

Glaring at me, the guard says something in Spanish, and I shake my head. “Sorry.” I moisten my parched lips. “I don’t speak much Spanish.”

The young man’s glower deepens. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he says in heavily accented English.

“I’m—” I swallow, feeling sweat trickling down my temples. “I’m staying with Lucas.”

“Lucas Kent?” The guard looks confused for a moment; then his dark eyes widen. “You are the prisoner.”

“Um, kind of. But now I’m his guest.” I attempt a shaky smile as I slowly lower my hands to my sides. “You know how that goes.”

An understanding look comes over the guard’s face. “You are his puta.”

I’m pretty sure he just called me a whore, but I nod and widen my smile, hoping it looks seductive rather than frightened. “He likes me,” I say, pulling my shoulders back to thrust my braless breasts forward. “You know what I mean?”