Carefully cradling his dislocated arm with his working one, Micah shakily got to his feet. He felt woozy – whether it was the adrenaline rushing through his system or the nerves or the fact that he hadn’t had anything to eat for days, Micah wasn’t sure – but he didn’t let it stop him.

He staggered over to the desk – his clothes, his watch. Micah picked up the diamond-encrusted timepiece, fingers fumbling as he quickly found the panic button Damon had had installed.

All it would take was three jabs to have his exact coordinates sent to Damon.

But to Micah’s own surprise, he found his thumb hovering uncertainly over the button. What if he didn’t come?

On the other hand… what if he did?

There was no way to know whether or not Damon had any idea Micah was missing and in danger – being held by an unhinged madman who might hurt Damon if he showed up unexpectedly, or worse, kill him.

Then again, if even an iota of Damon still cared for Micah, he knew the man would want him to press the button – would be furious, actually, if he didn’t. So trusting his instincts, Micah carefully pushed down the button three times.

Looking at the watch, there was no alarm or any other indication that the panic button had worked, but perhaps that was the point, so Micah would just have to trust that his coordinates had been sent.

Not that he was about to wait around for Damon – or anyone else for that matter – to come save him.

Setting down the watch, Micah went to the door, jiggling the knob and testing the thickness of the wooden slab. It was locked, and too sturdy to try to kick or bulldoze down – especially with a bum shoulder.

He briefly considered attempting to set his shoulder, but a single glance at the black and blue lump convinced him he would probably only make it worse.

Realizing he was stuck there until Ren (or with any luck, Damon or the police) let him out, Micah returned to his clothes to hastily dress himself before searching for a weapon.

(Well, he tried to dress himself. It was harder than he expected with a useless arm. He was able to pull his pants up with his good hand, but quickly gave up on zipping or buttoning his fly. He didn’t even attempt the sweatshirt.)

Micah pocketed his watch then crossed the room to stash the cross he’d used to free himself as well. If it was sharp enough to fray rope, it was sharp enough to break skin. Then he turned his attention to the chair, stomping on one of the legs until it splintered from the seat. He picked it up with his good hand, intending to wield it like a club.