Page 57 of Radiant Exception
And I’d been so close to making it to Simon’s ship. I recalled seeing the ship name printed on the side as I’d approached the slip.
Simon.
I recounted my interaction with him.
I had the weirdest feeling that the bastard was somehow involved in this. Why hadn’t he asked me more questions about what my call was about or why it was so urgent? He should have been far too concerned with how he would be perceived if he allowed a stranger aboard his consul vessel, but he’d agreed to my request without a second thought.
And then I remembered that he’d apologized to me for how things had ended, and my suspicions grew that much greater. Yousee, Simon Westcott never apologized. And I’m not hyperbolizing. He prided himself on that fact and used it often as a point of argument, especially when our relationship began to sour.
“I won’t say sorry.” He’d stand firm, regardless of how wrong he’d been. “I don’t apologize.” I could hear his obstinate voice echoing through my throbbing head.
Suddenly, I heard the scuffle of footsteps outside the door before it hissed open. Brighter light poured in from the hallway. I feigned still being knocked out to avoid drawing attention to myself.
The two men who entered the hold covered their faces, likely to avoid identification, which told me they had done this before, and narrowed down potential escape plans because if they were professional traffickers, they’d probably had their fair share of attempts in the past.
They surveyed the group. One of the traffickers kicked the foot of someone across the room. “Good lot,” he grunted.
Their footsteps neared me, and I both felt and heard one of them crouch near me. I trained my breathing to be slow and steady. “Can I keep this one?” the same man said.
My stomach curdled. I knew they were talking about me.
“Naw—that’s Simon’s girl. We’re supposed to make sure she gets as far from Vesta as possible before selling her,” the second spoke.
Motherfucker, I knew he was in on it.
Despite my rage, I remained silent and prone. But I swore to myself when I got off this bloody ship, Simon’s ass was mine, and I’d take that fucker down for what he’d done.
“We’ll come back in another hour or so; they should be awake by then,” the second man instructed the first. Clearly, he was the one in charge. Might be useful later, so I filed it away.
I only relaxed slightly when I heard the snick of the door sealing behind them. I had an hour to come up with a plan.
Frantically, I searched the immediate area for anything I could use to free myself, but there were only passed-out captives, and my hands were tied so tightly to the rail that I could barely feel my fingers due to the loss of circulation.
I felt panic rising in my gut, and I took a moment to center myself and work through a breathing exercise. Now was not the time to freak out, but this was bad.
Because I’d left in such a hurry and didn’t feel safe trusting anyone on the ship, nobody knew where I was going. Hell, I didn’t even know how much time had passed while I’d been drugged.
How far away were we from Vesta?
Had Vaughn realized I was gone?
Would he even care?
I couldn’t think too deeply on that last question or it would consume my thoughts, and I had to focus on escape and survival, both of which were going to be quite challenging.
Doing a short sweep of the top corners of the room, I didn’t see any security cameras, but it was so dark there was no guarantee someone wasn’t watching. Slowly, I repositioned myself in a way that made it appear as though I was simply moving in my sleep so that my mouth was close to the ties at my wrists.
It was unlikely I’d be able to chew through them, given the experience of the traffickers and the easily accessible polymers that wouldn’t be prone to tearing, but that was the only shot I had, other than waiting until I was being transported to the next location to make a move, which had a whole litany of its own risks.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that chewing through my bonds was off the table. The ties weren’t going anywhere, and breaking a tooth wasn’t going to help anything.
Again, I began searching around me, but without the use of my hands to check in pockets and underneath the bodies nearby, I was pretty much helpless. I hated that my best shot was simply sitting still and waiting.
I was attempting to turn the body next to me over by nudging them with my foot when I froze, thinking I’d heard something outside the door. I waited a moment and, sure enough, that was definitely some sort of commotion farther down the corridor.
First, I heard what sounded like the familiar fizzle of a plasma gun, one of the more common weapons in space because they could immobilize humans without blowing through the hull of a ship. Next, I heard what sounded like men grunting in a physical altercation, then yelling. And over the clamor came his voice, angrily snarling, “Where is mywife!?”
I felt the air leave my lungs in a whoosh.
