She felt a thrill rip through her at the sight of this opportunity.
He’d been distracted, concerned about something. He’d taken his jacket off. Last night, he hadn’t taken it off until the shower. It contained all of his weapons (at least, the ones she’d seen) and the remote to the taser bracelet, not to mention whatever drugs he’d used. After much effort during the car ride, she was able to remember a shiny powder being blown into her face just before the curtain of black dropped down.
He was busying himself in the backpack, which no doubt contained more weapons and gruesome gadgets.
Her eyes zeroed in on the jacket, pulled like a magnet. She quelled her anticipation and forced her heartbeat to slow down. If she’d been able to pick up on his nerves, he’d spot hers from a mile away, and know immediately that she was up to something. She acted entirely, completely normal, and attempted to keep him distracted.
“Do you know where Lucidia is?” she asked.
His eyes trailed on the door, while he remained at the backpack, hands fiddling with something. “My associates…” he trailed off, and then looked to her, regaining his thought. “My associates confirmed she was headed our way. Iowa, last they’d heard.”
“She’ll be here soon, then,” she said.
“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, eyes glued to the door, hands finding what he wanted.
She watched as he pulled out a sinister pistol equipped with a long silencer, and then slung the backpack over his shoulder.
Robin froze. Her eyes widened and she tensed, making no move to interact with him while he was holding the weapon. She knew in some corner of her mind that it wasn’t meant for her, but it still shocked her to her core. Without a word, he opened the door and poked his head out.
It seemed like he was there for an eternity, just staring. At last, he opened the door a little wider. He didn’t even turn to her when he mumbled, “I’ll be right back,” and stepped out into the hallway.
Her heart was hammering like a runaway train when he closed the door behind him. She jumped into action, grabbing the jacket and searching for the remote. Her hand clasped around it, fingers shaking, holding it like it was going to self-destruct at any second.
The green button at the bottom. She took a shaky breath, palms breaking out in sweat, and pressed it.
She couldn’t help but gasp as the bracelet unhooked and fell to the floor.
For a moment, the terror overtook her. Could she really pull it off? Could she outthink him? Everything about this abduction had been so planned, so well-constructed. But now, he was off his game.
She didn’t even want to consider what had spooked Reykon.
She had no time to think. And backing out of her escape plan wasn’t an option; not only would she have to willingly put that bracelet on again, but she’d also have to live wondering if this was her only chance to get away. Even if she failed – which, she couldn’t – Reykon would just track her down and shove her in the trunk. He wouldn’t kill her, because of his orders from Magnus.
But still, she didn’t want to think about what Reykon would do if he found her.
She rifled through the pockets of his jacket and found an inner lining, with two pouches of powder. One pouch was blue and the other red, the blue containing a fine silver powder, and the red containing a dark, charcoal one.
“Fuck,” she muttered, unsure of which one he’d used on her. With every second he remained outside, the tension rose, the shaking in her hands increasing.
When in doubt, make your best guess.
She vaguely remembered a flash of blue before she’d fallen asleep, so went for that one. She clasped the pouch and pinched off some, gauging how much he’d used on her.
With a heaving chest, she crept closer to the door, bracing herself on the wall next to it. Her knees were shaking now, threatening to buckle. She pulled herself together; this was her only chance to get away.
She pictured the plan in her mind: hold the powder up, blow it in his face. She pictured it a million times, until she felt like the motion was engrained into her brain tissue.
Standing there, with only the ragged gasp of her breath and the bass drum kick of her heart, she encountered a special form of hell: suspense.
After an eternity, the lock clicked, and she watched the handle turn at a terrifyingly fast pace.
“Sorry about that…” he said, pistol turned downward, finger off the trigger.
Events occurred in slow motion.
Reykon was an astute observer with a trained eye. Right off the bat, his eyes flicked to her wrist, where the bracelet should have been. It only took a fraction of a second for him to realize his mistake, and he glanced quickly to the jacket, then back to her in an instant. She saw as he tensed to attack her.
By that time, she’d brought her hand up, blowing on the silver powder as hard as she could and then slamming into him.
She knocked him into the wall, hard, and then braced herself for his counterattack.
To her shock, his legs gave out, and he crashed to the floor, his head narrowly escaping the corner of the wooden bedframe. The pistol clunked a foot away from his hand, facing the wall.
For a moment, the whole world stood still, and everything was silent.
Reykon didn’t move.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and double checked that he was actually asleep. He was. More than asleep, even; comatose.
She’d done it.
Robin let out a ragged gasp and wiped her hands on her pants, surveying her new situation. Now, she had to get away before he woke up. Once he’d woken, he’d come after her, and…
Her eyes slipped to the gun.
She’d been shooting with her father countless times. She knew her way around a
