14 - J. T. Ellison [98]
She felt warmer and went to the door again, listening. There was a sound—a man’s voice. He was singing, and the tuneless chant was growing closer.
She’d only have one shot at breaking away, she was certain of that.
She ran to the chair, set it upright and sat in it. She put her arms behind her, mimicking the angle that would make the guard think she was still tied up. The locks clicked and the door opened. A new man came through the door, this one much smaller than the earlier guard. She’d have a chance at this one.
He had a stupid smile on his face, as if he knew a secret she didn’t. He had a tray with him; Taylor could smell the tantalizing fare. The aroma wafted to her nose—fajitas—she could smell grilled onions and green peppers. Out of place in the dirty space, it made her think of good times, drinking margaritas on the deck of her favorite little hole-in-the-wall in Nashville. The homesickness was overwhelming. She put it aside. At least they’d deigned to feed her, which meant they weren’t planning on killing her immediately.
She wouldn’t stick around long enough to make a difference.
“I need to use the bathroom.” Taylor tried for haughty but scared; the grin on the man’s face widened. She’d succeeded in tricking him so far.
“My name’s Dusty,” he said.
“Great. Hi. Seriously, I need to use the bathroom.” Taylor spit the words at him, but he took it as teasing and smiled wider. Idiot.
“Do you like to read?”
Oh, wow. This guy wasn’t all there. He was smiling, arranging the plate of food, seemingly oblivious to Taylor’s request. She let him get closer.
“Yes, I like to read.”
“Do you like to touch?”
Jesus, what kind of freaks were these guys? The big one had stared at her like she was a juicy steak, but this one, with his dispassionate voice that belied his bravado—Taylor doubted he would do anything to her.
“Touch what?”
“You know.” He blushed, and Taylor took a deep breath as he drew closer.
He’d have to feed her or untie her hands so she could feed herself. Either way would give her the opportunity she needed. With any luck—yes.
He set the tray on the floor. “I’m going to untie you so you can eat. We can talk. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
She nodded. He came closer, closer. A fug surrounded him; he hadn’t bathed recently, and she tried not to gag. Easy now. Let him reach behind…
Taylor jumped to her feet, knocking the chair out behind her. Dusty’s shock lasted long enough for her surprise attack. Whipping her hand around his head, Taylor got a good hold on his left ear with her right hand, got his jaw in her left and twisted away from her body with all her might. She was taller than him, had more leverage than he’d expect. Before he could fight back, his head spun to the side hard and his neck snapped with a sickening, audible crunch.
Taylor let out her breath and released Dusty’s head. He crumpled to the floor in a heap at her feet.
She took three steps back and stared down at him. She’d never killed a man with her bare hands before, never had to. She’d always had a weapon at her side to do the dirty work for her. More blood on her hands.
She shook the thought off. She didn’t have time to worry about this now. She needed to get out of here. Without a glance behind, she darted from the room. There was a long hallway that ended in a doorway, a window above it letting light gleam in. She headed for it, thrilled when it opened into the bitter winter air.
She took deep gulps of air, cleaning the confinement out of her lungs. Her breath created gusting clouds of vapor, like a dragon snorting out smoke. The street in front of her was abandoned. To her right and left were buildings covered in graffiti, sprawling tags by ghetto artists and gangbangers, making the setting almost feel like home.
A dirty