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“You gotta stretch, stretch until your body feels like it’s goin’ to break, Jo.”
Tatum’s voice penetrates through the darkness, through my panting, through the angry grunts that are coming out of my throat as I fumble around in the darkness, looking for a piece of abandoned metal he happened to notice lying under an old cabinet when the lights were on. He said I’d be able to reach it, but it’s been well over an hour, and I can’t find the damn thing.
“It doesn’t help that I don’t know where I’m fucking looking, Tatum. I could be way off. It’s not easy when I can’t see.”
“Just keep patting around, you’ll find it. It’s there, I know it is.”
“Where exactly, because right now I haven’t felt a thing except what I pray isn’t rat shit.”
He goes silent for a moment as I grunt and puff, stretching my fingers out in front of me as far as I can. I shuffle and reach, feeling around anywhere I can. I’m probably right near it, it’s probably inches in front of me and I’m too short to reach it. Tatum was sure I could, but I’m starting to think he’s full of damn shit.
“Have a break,” he murmurs into the darkness.
“No,” I growl. “No, I won’t.”
“Jo, fuckin’ stop.”
“Go fuck yourself, Tatum.”
“You’re being irrational.”
“You’re being a jerk.”
“Jo ...”
My fingers hit a hard piece of wood, a good way off to my right. I’ve been searching the wrong damn area. He told me it was to the left slightly, but mostly in front of me. He was wrong, it’s to my right and not in front of me at all.
“I found it,” I say, my fingers sliding up as I stretch my body to its absolute limits to reach the dusty old cabinet.
“It was just underneath it. Trace your fingers down to the bottom and very carefully feel around.”
“For what it’s worth,” I pant, stretching as hard as I can, “it was to the fucking right.”
Tatum makes a snorting sound but doesn’t say anything else. A moment later, I reach the bottom and feel a cold, rather small, piece of metal beneath my fingertips. It’s not a great deal bigger than a nail—hell, it probably is a nail.
“This tiny thing is the metal you’re talking about?” I mutter, curling my fingers around it. “What’s this going to do?”
“It’s big enough, and it’s going to cut this rope off my damn legs, that’s what.”
Good lord, he’s going to cut his rope with this?
“I’m not sure you’re going to have much success.”
“Do you want to die, Jo?”
His question takes me by surprise, and I whisper, “No.”
“Then you’ll try anything. Bring it here.”
I shuffle backward, my body aching, my fingers tight. I feel around in the dark for Tatum’s outstretched hands and place the metal into them. He’s quiet for a moment, no doubt feeling around the escape weapon we just secured. Then I hear him scratching it against the concrete ground, over and over.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Digging us out?”
“I’m sharpening one edge of it, if you must know.”
I shut my mouth, because I’m being a cow. I know I am. I’m just scared. Deep down, I’m frightened as hell about what’s going to happen to us, and I’m trying my hardest not to think about it, but it’s really damn hard when we’re tied in a basement, waiting for them to come in and put a bullet between our eyes.
“Sorry,” I say softly. “I’m just—”
“Yeah,” Tatum cuts me off, “yeah I know.”
Of course he knows.
He’s here too.
He feels it too.
He’s scared for himself.
For me.
For his brother.
For all of us.
~*~*~*~
“ARE YOU GOING TO TELL me what it is you’re planning to do?”
Tatum doesn’t answer me. Maybe he’s asleep, but most likely he’s ignoring me.
“No,” he finally says. “No, because I don’t know yet.”
“Right,” I mutter.
“I need you to scoot as close as you can, this metal is sharp enough now. You’re going to saw the rope on my feet. Can’t do it myself, my arm is ...”
Sore. Probably broken.
The fact that he’s been managing to sharpen that little piece of metal is enough, let alone with his hands being cuffed and his body being damaged. I’ve seen his arm, battered and bloody, and I know he’s in pain because he winces every now and then amidst the scraping along the concrete. Even Chase, at one point, told him to stop.
At least he’s still with us.
That’s something, right?
“Okay,” I say, not questioning him further. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Come as close as you can and reach out for my hands.”
I do as he asks, scooting as close to him as my bound feet will let me, there is only about a yard of rope attached to the wall, if that, so I can’t get too far. Then I lie on my belly and reach my hands out, thankful they decided not to cuff my hands, I guess they figured I wouldn’t be able to do much. Without this tiny piece of metal, I wouldn’t. I tried undoing the hard rope tied around me, but my fingers ended up bloody and broken before it moved. A knife is the only way that rope is coming off.
Or possibly days working on it.
Tatum’s cuffed hands find me, and a little feeling rushes through my body when his fingers, his broken fingers, purposefully graze over mine, just for a second, running across my smooth skin in an act of affection. My heart hammers against my ribcage and I close my eyes, so many mixed emotions travelling through my body. Emotions I just can’t even think about right now.
The cold metal drops into my hand, and Tatum’s voice, low and husky, says, “Feel around, find the thinnest piece of rope you can and start cutting. Once you start, don’t stop because you’ll lose the spot. It’ll hurt, Jo. It won’t be easy, but I need you to do this, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
My heart makes a funny flutter again and I feel around the rope tying his feet together. It’s as thick as mine and tied so well that there is no way I can cut through the bundles of knots. I move to his ankle instead. If I can cut one free and then cut the rope leading to the wall, he’ll be able to move, even if there is still rope tied to his legs.
I find the thinnest part of the thick rope around his ankle, and I start sawing. My fingers burning within minutes as I use all my strength to cut through the rope that’s so thick, I doubt whether I’ll ever actually get through it. The thought makes me feel even more determined to keep going, even through the pain in my wrists and hands. I won’t let us down.
“Tell me something, Jo. Anything. It’ll help.”
I grit my teeth together, sawing with all my might, then I take a deep breath and say, “If there was anyone in the world I could be here with, I’m glad it’s you, Tatum.”
He goes silent for a minute, a long freaking minute, so long I wonder if I’ve said the wrong damn thing. Then, after a pause, he tells me, “What about your husband?”
In all our time together, we’ve rarely mentioned the big elephant in the room, the fact that I’m married. He knows it. I obviously know it. Everyone knows it, but nobody mentions it, except Callie, of course. She’s not afraid to remind me of the dangerous situation I’m putting myself in feeling the way I feel about Tatum.
I can’t help it.
I don’t act on it, but I can’t help it.
He brings out something in me, something I can’t explain. There is a connection that runs so deep, I never thought something like it could actually exist. I thought people just told people they had that kind of connection so they didn’t feel left out in the world. Turns out that’s not the case at all. It’s real, and it’s terrifying.
“I’d never want to be in a situation like this with him,” I tell Tatum, and it’s the truth.
I don’t lie.
If someone asks me something, I’m always going to give them an honest answer.
Always.
Even if the answer is wrong.
“Why?” he asks.
I pause at my sawing for a second and think of the best way to answer that. I don’t want to insult Pat, because regardless of what a dick he can be, he’s also been pretty good to me in the past, I mean, he did take care of me for a long time and gave me everything I’ve got, however he’s also an incredibly hard man to live with. His power gets the better of him.
“Because Pat isn’t the same kind of man as you,” I answer.
“How so?”
I keep working at the rope, shifting as my legs are starting to ache. “He’s not strong, Tatum. He’s powerful, he knows how to make money and he knows how to spend it. He’s clean and he’s tidy, but he’s not made for something like this. He’d freak out, he’d yell, he’d probably even beg, but he wouldn’t be smart enough to find a way out. This isn’t the kind of situation Patrick could handle.”
Tatum goes quiet again.
Then he asks, “Why did you marry him?”
Ah, the dreaded question of why?
Don’t we all want the answers to that? Hell, I want the damn answers to that, and yet I find myself unable to get them half the time.
“Because I was young, and our families got along, and it was the perfect marriage. I thought it was what I wanted. A rich husband, a good life, comfortable and easy. It seemed like everything. I learned very quickly it wasn’t.”
“Gotta live, too. Gotta feel the world beneath your toes. Gotta breathe in the air of every country. Gotta feel the burn in your belly when you’re with someone that makes your soul feel alive. That’s what living is. That’s what makes you put one foot in front of the other.”
God, is he right about that.
So damned right my chest clenches.
That’s what he makes me feel, like I could take on the whole world. Like I could feel passion burning deep in my belly. Like I could be anything I wanted to be, without hesitation.
Dammit.
God dammit.
I clench my eyes shut and take a shaky breath, before telling him, “I’m stuck.”
“With him?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re never stuck, Jo. Not ever.”
“He’ll make my life hell if I leave, he’ll take everything I’ve worked for.”
“Not if you’re smart. Not if you stand tall and don’t let him. You don’t stay forever in an unhappy situation just because it’s hard. You’re stronger than that, I fuckin’ know you are.”
Tears burn under my eyelids, because he’s right, I know he’s right. Just like I know Callie has been right all this time. I’m terrified of leaving, that’s the real truth. Terrified of all the drama that’ll come with it. Terrified of letting my family down. Terrified of entering this world alone when I’ve had everything.
Terrified.
The rope snaps. A loud breaking sound that makes me jerk backward. I did it. I cut through it. I make a gasping sound and say, “It snapped!”
Tatum makes a relieved sound, no doubt as he stretches his legs apart. “You fuckin’ did it!” he praises and my heart swells.
“Give me the nail for a bit, I’ll get it off the wall now that it’s easier to move around.”
I hand it to him, and his fingers curl around mine for a moment, and we fall into silence, “Thank you, honey,” he murmurs.
My heart dies.
It just fucking dies.
Because I want to hear those words every day for the rest of my life.
Coming from his mouth.
With his hands curled around mine.
Damn you, Fate.
Just for once, I wish you’d make things easy.
Just once.