Page 253 of Breaking Rosalind
With a few careful words, he tricked Tommaso into ordering an antidote for the benzo, and he tricked me into walking into this brig. Cesare might be observant and know how to outsmart an opponent, but he knows nothing about Gunther.
I can’t let him get out there alone.
Whirling around, I turn on the light and search through the boxes for something, anything, to help me pick the locks. I was so anxious to get those bullets I forgot to examine the other side of the door before getting myself imprisoned.
I’m slacking, letting down my guard because there’s a part of me that’s already dependent on Cesare to take care of my needs.
This isn’t like me at all.
I rummage through cardboard boxes filled with pill bottles, bandages, gloves and syringes until I find a small box containing disposable scalpels.
Triumph flares through my chest, and I flash my teeth. I extract one of the metal instruments and slide its blade into the gap in the door. With rapid up-and-down strokes, I shim the middle lock until it finally gives way
Next, I attack the upper lock, working the scalpel until it snaps.
The high-pitched clink of metal-on-metal grates on my nerves as the stubborn lock refuses to budge. After piling some boxes to change my angle of attack, I finally make it yield.
With a muttered curse, I crouch low and work on the final lock, which is close to the floor. Sweat slickens my palms and trickles down the back of my neck. My body breaks out in chills. Heat rises off my skin, even though I’m still wearing a halter neck and a mini skirt.
What the fuck? I’m burning up with a fever. My joints throb, and my muscles pull on my bones like lead weights. There’s no way I could have caught the flu.
Only it’s not influenza. It’s withdrawal.
Shit.
No wonder I walked into Cesare’s trap. I can’t even think straight.
It takes two broken scalpels and every ounce of concentration to get through the last lock, and by the time I push the door open, I’m shaking so badly I can barely stand.
The infirmary spins, and every fiber in my being screams for something to relive these maddening sensations. I can’t face the ocean at night in the throes of withdrawal. Gritting my teeth, I grab hold of the edge of a cot to pull myself upright.
My gaze catches on a scrawled note along with a vial and a syringe.
Rosalind,
By the time you read this, I’ll either be on my way back with Miranda or in a standoff, waiting for Benito and his crew.
Take another dose of the antidote before following.
Not sure how long the last one will hold off the withdrawal.
Love you,
Cesare
With trembling fingers, I reach for the needle and vial, drawing the clear liquid into the syringe. It would have taken that asshole ten seconds to do this for me, but he wanted to keep me in this wretched infirmary.
Nostrils flaring, I picture his huge dick caught in the yoke of a miniature guillotine with a blade bouncing off his shaft.
“This had better not be a sedative.”
Sending out a silent prayer to the fates, I slide the needle into my skin, push down on the plunger, and release the liquid into my bloodstream.
“Damn it,” I mutter as my veins fill with an icy chill.
I bend my head, my fingers tightening around the edge of the cot, and breathe hard. Within moments, the shivers retreat, and my limbs are restored to their usual lightness. I roll my shoulders, working through the aches until they fade.
Straightening, I rush to the infirmary door, only to find it locked.