Contents (94)
- Villain
- Caro Savage
- Contents
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- Acknowledgments
- More from Caro Savage
- About the Author
- About Boldwood Books
Bailey stared at him in disbelief.
He turned his back on her and picked up a whetstone from the table. Humming a little tune, he began to hone the edge of the knife on the whetstone. Schwip. Schwap. Schwip. Schwap…
Think, Bailey, think. There must be a way out. Think think think.
She blew her hair out of her face. Bloody hair, getting on her nerves. As she did so, she felt something knock against the back of her neck and realised that it was her hairgrip. It had become loose in the recent struggle and was now hanging down behind her head.
Her poor mother, she suddenly thought. Despite her fundamentalist Christian ways, she’d meant well and she’d only ever wanted what was best for Bailey. And now look at Bailey – tied to a chair on the verge of being tortured and murdered. She wondered if it was too late to suddenly become a Christian. That would make her mum happy. After all, people often did convert when they were close to death and—
Bailey’s fevered musings suddenly jerked to a halt as something occurred to her.
The shape of the hairgrip.
The ancient fish symbol. A single line traced in thin silver, the end of the tail formed of two divergent strands of metal with nothing joining them together.
An idea began to take form in her mind.
She remembered that cable ties could be unlocked if you found something narrow enough to insert in the lock. Maybe there was the very slim chance she could use one of the metal ends of the fish tail. If memory served her right, it was slender enough to fit inside the mouth of a cable tie. All she had to do was somehow get the hairgrip out of her hair and into her hands. But that was no easy task.
She glanced at Archie. He was still sharpening the knife, talking to it in a breathless whisper. ‘Oh, you like that, don’t you? Oh, yeah…’
Praying that he would keep going for a few minutes longer, she began to shake her head until the hairgrip started to come loose. Her aim was to try and catch it in her hands behind her. But it would be exceedingly difficult. Not only were her hands bound, she wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing. But it was imperative she caught it, for if she dropped it, or if it bounced off the top of the chair, then she was finished for good.
She jerked her head again. She felt the hairgrip loosen a little and slide down a bit further. Almost there…
She eyed Archie warily. He was still sharpening the knife with his back to her.
Schwip. Schwap. Schwip. Schwap.
He appeared to be completely absorbed in the process, lost in a dreamy rapture as he whispered sweet nothings to his knife.
He just needed to stay that way for a few moments longer, just long enough for her to…