Lindisfarne Priory, Holy Island, Berwick-upon-Tweed
Rose watched Landvik and his men stalk off into the church grounds as the rain made rivulets on the car windows, growing heavier. People began to hurry out of the site, heading for their cars, grinning and making rueful faces at each other. Classic British stoicism in the face of awful weather. The only people looking truly annoyed about it were probably foreigners.
She looked down at her hands in her lap, wrists still bound tight with a black plastic zip tie. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to loosen it at all. All she had done was make a sore, red band around the outside edge of both wrists. Right now, she knew, was her best chance of escape. The effects of the ritual and whatever drugs she had been given were at their lowest ebb thus far. She wasn’t exactly clear-headed, but was as close to it as she had been in a long time. And only one goon sat with her in the car instead of four. Though he was a big goon. Grigor, Landvik had called him. The name suited him somehow.
She saw the slight bulge just under his left armpit, no doubt a shoulder-holstered pistol. She considered the possibility of disarming him, but thought perhaps that was pretty unlikely. And if she did escape, then what? It wasn’t like the place was crawling with police, though there must be some around the island, if she could only find them. She doubted any tourist would lift a finger to help her. More likely they would video her desperate attempt to escape and it would be on YouTube before the end of the day. But she had to try something.
She watched Grigor’s craggy square head for a moment as he stared mutely out at the increasing rain. After a moment she said, “Hey, Grigor.” He didn’t look around, didn’t even acknowledge he’d heard her. “Grigor? I need to pee.”
He huffed a grunt that might have been the beginning of a laugh. Without taking his eyes off the view outside he said, “Nice try.”
“Dude, I’m serious.”
“Go ahead. I have a baby at home, so it’s not like I’m not accustomed to the smell.”
Rose cursed him quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. He chuckled softly. She considered calling his bluff just for spite, but knew it would only cause her more discomfort. She didn’t doubt he would let her sit in her own piss and enjoy it.
She sighed deeply, angry and frustrated. There must be something she could do, some way to take a chance that had some possibility of success. Once the thug on her left side had got out of the car she had scooted over from the center of the back seat, buying herself some more comfort and leg room. It was a relief not to be pressed up against the solid bulk of Grigor any more. It also put her closer to the door. She surreptitiously cast a glance toward it, pictured in her mind how it would go to grab for the handle with her hands tied as they were. She imagined the process, a quick dive for the door release, pull it and drive her shoulder into the door and roll right out of the vehicle. She might hurt herself, but she was trained to break fall. She could hit the ground on her shoulder, sling her legs over to gain momentum to roll onto her upper back and then gain her knees, then quickly her feet. She pictured it again in her mind, imagined the roll and then a sprint out into the people heading back in the direction of town, holding her bound hands above her head as proof as she screamed about being abducted. So what if it ended up on YouTube, surely among all the people milling about in the rain, someone would help her. And Grigor wouldn’t pull his weapon and start firing in such a place. Would he? They needed her alive after all. Her heartrate increased as she quietly began to psych herself up for the bolt. She flicked her eyes back toward Grigor and her stomach fell.
He was looking right at her, grinning widely. “You would never make it.”
Fury bubbled up, made Rose grit her teeth. She was tempted to try for the escape anyway. Maybe she could use her tied hands as a double fist and smash his stupid nose first, then roll from the door. The big idiot wouldn’t be expecting that.
Then another look passed over Grigor’s face, one she’d seen a million times before from a million creepy guys. Her already boosted pulse ratcheted up again.
“Don’t even think about that!” she said.
Grigor laughed, a low, guttural noise. “I can do whatever I want, you know.”
“Landvik needs me. You don’t want to piss off your boss.”
“Landvik needs your memories. Your body is a lot more disposable.” He slid one hand up her thigh.
All Rose’s frustrations bubbled over and she lifted both her hands, twisting them painfully against the zip tie to drive her right elbow as hard as she could into his ribs.
Grigor winced and grunted, folding slightly against the impact, and that gave Rose another surge of adrenaline, a more positive one this time, but Grigor straightened and grinned. “I like a little fight in my women.”
He shot one hand out, grabbed the hair at the back of Rose’s neck, and pulled her toward him. He planted a hard kiss, crushing her lips against her teeth. His breath was rank with tobacco and some kind of alcohol. Rose opened her mouth and bit hard against his lips, tasting a surge of salty, hot blood. Grigor roared, jerking back. He put one palm in the center of her chest to drive her back and backhanded her with the other. Her face whipped to one side, her cheek stinging instantly with the sharp pain of it, thankfully the opposite side to where Landvik had cut her.
He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, the words, “You bitch!” muffled against it.
Rose knew she was in trouble, the man animalistic now with anger. Her back pressed against the door, she couldn’t twist around to open it, to dive free, so she took the fight to him. She shot forward, and threw her weight to one side, slamming an elbow across the bridge of his nose. He tried to get his arm in the way and was only partly successful. Rose was rewarded with a dull crunch and Grigor yelped, the sound as surprised as it was angry.
“You like a little fight, huh?” Rose yelled at him, clutched her fists together and crashed them into his head, once, twice, three times. Grigor snarled, covering up with one arm. As he clawed out with the other, she batted it aside and made a move for the car door. She kicked out backwards as she grabbed the door handle and pulled, planning to drive against him with her legs to exit the vehicle even if she landed on her face. She pulled the door handle, adrenaline and exhilaration pulsing through her, expecting cold wet air. Nothing happened. She yanked the handle again. Nothing.
Grigor laughed. “You think we’re stupid? Child locks, you idiot.” He grabbed her roughly above the knees and flipped her over. The back of her head hit the door as she landed and bounced against the car seat. “You should have gone for the driver’s door.” Grigor’s grin was wide again, leering, all the more terrifying for the blood over his teeth and the rapidly swelling lower lip.
Rose was pleased that she had hurt him, but it was small comfort as he dragged her down and straddled her. Thoughts of violent rape rippled through her and she tried to drive a knee into his groin, but he was ready for that and turned one thigh to block her. Her eyes went wide as Grigor’s bloodied, angry face rose over her and he closed both meaty hands around her throat.