But would he? I can tell that he’s furious at me. What I can’t tell is what he intends to do with me. Use me as his fucktoy, then kill me? Part of me finds it hard to believe that he would kill me, though maybe he wouldn’t actually pull the trigger himself. Or maybe he would. I clearly don’t know him as well as I thought I did.

He’s a gangster. His cousin had my roommate Amy murdered.

The heels I wear have been doing their version of homicide on my feet, and I can no longer find a position for my standing foot that is discernibly less painful. I should never have allowed myself to be talked into buying these shoes. I shouldn’t have gone on that date with Josh. Coretta had taken my son, Evan, with her to her daughter’s house for the weekend so that I could study, not go out and wind up kidnapped by my ex.

Stop it! I tell myself. Crying over spilled milk isn’t going to help me out of my current predicament.

I tug against my bonds again, but they don’t give any more than before. If I can’t get out of these ropes, I have no hope. I’m a sitting duck.

So I have to find a way to get untied. I had suggested to Darren that I would give him a blow job. He’d passed on it at the time, but he had also said, “Don’t worry. You’ll get a chance to blow me.”

That suggests he will let me blow him. Problem is, there are many ways he can have me give him head. I could still be trapped in rope. But my current position wouldn’t work, and when he undoes the ropes to change things up, I might have a chance then.

Ideally, I would have my hands free. Then I could maybe grab something for a weapon.

Looking around, I see only the light bulb and a chair against the wall nearest me. Otherwise, this basement is only concrete flooring, windowless walls, and exposed pipes. I think about my shoes. Maybe the heels could work as a weapon? But how good would they work against a gun?

I shiver, remembering the shot I heard earlier. And Darren isn’t alone. I’m not sure who the others could be. Maybe Marshall, his sometime bodyguard and head of security.

But one thing or one person at a time. Maybe I’ll get lucky. I have to try something. And I’m not afraid of getting shot or hurt. As long as I can make it out alive. For Evan. There’s no way I’m dying and leaving him without a mother when he’s already missing a father.

Taking a large breath, I tamp down the fear that occasionally swells inside of me. I need focus and calm.

It feels like an eternity before I finally hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Thank God. I wouldn’t have an ankle left if I had to wait another minute. Or arms, which are sore from being raised above me for so long. My mouth is completely dry thanks to my own panties stuffed here. And because I’m still occasionally nursing and pumping, my breasts feel tight and uncomfortable. Meanwhile, there’s still the faintest simmer of desire between my legs, thanks to the crotch rope.