Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [72]
After an hour or more, the rope hadn’t slackened at all and my skin was raw.
I rested for a short spell, wondering how long I had before he came back and used his tools on me. And why he was waiting, anyway? What had that phone call been about? Was he just trying to scare me or did he have another reason for delaying?
I went back to working on the rope, getting nowhere, but refusing to give in.
Some time later, after midnight perhaps, I heard the engine start and the car pull out of the garage below. I counted to fifty and it didn’t return. Maybe he’d gone to get food. Or to kill someone else.
I began to work even more frantically, not worried anymore about making noise. My hands remained trapped, but the rope around my ankles had loosened a fraction, just enough that my feet were able to touch the floor.
I began to rock my weight until my momentum toppled me forward. I forced my legs to brace so that I stopped just short of falling on my face, teetering like a hermit crab with the chair on my back. The weight and angle strained my knees to buckling point but I tensed my calves. After a moment of reaching balance, I leaned to one side, attempting to reach the tool wrap. Immediately the chair weight began to tip me over and I had to rock back.
Shit. Move on to plan B.
Plan B involved waddling to the door and positioning myself behind it. When Josh came through it, I’d take him out with the legs of the chair. If I had the strength. If I was quick enough.
With each step towards the wall, my bladder threatened to burst and my back screamed in protest. I gritted my teeth and told myself that peeing my pants was preferable to being sliced up by a psycho.
It took forever to get in the right position but when I did, I was able to lean the back legs of the chair against the wall and take some of the weight off my spine.
Sweat poured off me, even though the air temperature had cooled off. I tried to relax my muscles to give them a chance to recover but a cramp attacked my right foot. I wiggled it around and nearly tipped over again. More sweating and straining to keep balance.
When the next cramp came, I just swore and waited it out, letting the tears flow.
The sound of the car returning brought a welcome surge of adrenaline to my numb legs and crippled back.
This was it! He’d come straight up and check on me for sure. I had to get him first swing.
There was a creak on the stairs as he headed up.
I sucked in a quick couple of breaths, bunched my muscles and rose up onto my toes. The door opened quietly and he stood there for a second. Once he realised I was gone, he stepped into the room and looked behind the door.
With every little bit of force I had in me, I swung the back of the chair around and socked it to him.
One of the higher back legs caught him under the jaw and he fell. I used my momentum to spin right around and dropped the chair down on top of him.
He tried to push me off, but I threw my whole weight backwards and dropped hard again. I was eighty kilos to contend with and this time something cracked – his rib, I hoped, or an arm.
He didn’t make a noise, just moved to roll. Fighting to keep balanced, I let his movement push me back to my feet again then repeated my action. This time the crack was louder and, from the groan that escaped, more painful.
Then he stopped moving.
I tried to see underneath the chair. Had I killed him?
From my upside-down view, he looked unconscious but I didn’t want to take any chances.
And what the hell did I do now?
It was then that I heard a faint movement on the stairs. Another creak. Quick, quiet footsteps. Shit, there was someone else in the house!
A tight fist squeezed my heart. I had nothing left in the tank for this. I’d beaten Josh but I was still going to die.
When a stocky figure with red hair and too many tattoos commando-rolled through the door, I nearly fainted on the spot from relief.
‘Arrgh!’
‘Boss!’
He took in the situation at a glance