I tried to slow my breaths, inhaling deeply. My stomach pitched. Don’t puke. Do not puke, Bell. I closed my eyes, willing the sensation to pass. When I opened them again, it was a little bit better. I looked around the vehicle’s interior, searching for something—anything—that might help.

Slowly, I eased myself up, using my elbow as a hoist. I looked out the front of the car and saw only the cliffside and the ocean below. My gaze swept around until I twisted to look over the backseat. The back and side windows were smashed, but there was no hint of remaining glass.

Movement caught my attention, a figure pacing back and forth in the darkness. I squinted. I couldn’t make out who they were. My breathing grew quicker again, and I had to force myself to slow it. I couldn’t risk passing out again.

Out. I had to get out. Out of the ropes. Out of this SUV. And far, far away from the person pacing this cliff. I tugged at the bonds around my hands. They were tight, so much so that my fingers were tingling. There was no way I could get them off without a knife. Why wasn’t I the kind of person who carried a pocketknife with them wherever they went? From now on, I would. First stop I was making tomorrow was The General Store, and I was getting the best pocketknife they had.

I let out a long, shaky breath. That wasn’t going to help me now. I tested the ropes around my ankles. They were just a little looser, not so tight they were cutting off my circulation. I bent down, my head throbbing sharply with the motion, making my stomach pitch. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, trying to still the onslaught of sensations.

When my eyes opened, I tested the ties around my legs with my fingers. I could slip in one digit, maybe two, but the knot tying the ends together was too tight for me to have any hope of undoing it. It was some sort of sailor’s knot with what seemed like endless loops and ties. I muttered a curse and tried to come up with a different plan of attack.

I studied the loops of rope, willing it to give me a clue. The material of my jeans bunched beneath the bindings, creating waves of fabric. I tugged on the material of one leg. It moved. My breath hitched, and my fingers started flying, pulling as much as they could with the limited dexterity they had. I grabbed and tugged, working as fast as I could, even after I lost all feeling in my fingers. Finally, one jeans leg came free and bunched above the ropes.