Page 38 of Breaking Rosalind
Gasping, he claws at the fabric, trying desperately to pry it off his windpipe, but I yank it even tighter and shove a foot against his sternum for leverage.
“Breath play?” he croaks, his smile twisting.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snarl and keep up the pressure.
His eyes bulge, his face reddens, and he struggles for air. “That’s enough now.”
I huff an incredulous laugh. “You think I’m going to stop?”
“No... but.” He wheezes, uttering through ragged breaths. “I. Can’t. Let. You. Escape.”
I lean backward, increasing the pressure of the garrote, until he sputters, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. Now’s the ideal chance to choke Cesare to death, but Gunther wants the Montesano brothers to die in a single strike.
Leaving the other two alive will only make them extra vigilant. Worse, they might recruit another crew of assassins to take out both me and the client.
When Cesare slumps, I release one end of the garrote and allow him to drop to the ground. His tattooed chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, showing he’s alive.
I crawl around his prone form and snap on the leg irons, locking them in place before I stumble to my feet. Sweat-dampened hair sticks to my skin, and I raise both hands over my face to wipe my eyes.
He grabs my ankle, lurching me off my feet. I drop to my side and groan.
“Why can’t you just stay down?” I snap.
“Because. You’re. Not. Leaving,” he replies through hacking coughs and drags himself up my legs. “I marked you. You’re mine.”
“My body isn’t yours to claim.”
“The fuck it isn’t.”
He can’t take me back. I can’t fall back into his clutches. I need to survive for Miranda. I launch a kick at his head, making it snap backward, but he’s determined not to let me escape. My hands scramble through the ground, rifling through twigs and debris until my fingers close around a stone the size of my fist.
With every ounce of my strength, I slam it into the side of his head.
Cesare’s features twist into a scowl and he grips tighter. “Bitch. Your punishment is about to get worse.”
“Get fucked.” I hit him again and again until he finally releases me and falls atop my legs like a dead weight.
I shove him off me with a grunt and scramble to my feet, still winded from the struggle. The forest spins around me like a carousel, and I need to hold my bound arms steady for balance.
A large vehicle rumbles in the distance and stops at a parking spot, giving me a potential means of escape. I glare down at the handcuffs and study their mechanism. If I had enough time, I’d use an instrument to pick the lock so I could secure them around Cesare’s wrists, but the vehicle door opens and heavy footsteps approach.
I need to hide Cesare. Now.
Bending, I grab his bound feet and drag his unconscious body into the undergrowth. The handcuffs dig into my wrists as I tug him over the rough terrain.
Once I’m satisfied he’s hidden, I crouch beside him and join my forearms. The least efficient way to escape handcuffs involves attacking its weakest link: the chain.
I make tight circles with my wrists, turning the metal links until they tangle and lock. Once they’re secure, I twist, breaking a link in the chain with a snap.
My hands fall free, and I cry out with relief. Adrenaline continues to flood my system because I’m still not safe. After taking off Cesare’s belt, I stumble to my feet, walk out of the bushes and pick up his shirt.
An escape plan takes form in the back of my mind as I sprint toward the vehicle, jumping over tree roots and dodging low-hanging branches.
If I can’t hide in its undercarriage, then I’ll hotwire its engine and ram it through the gates.
Whatever it takes to escape this madhouse.
When Cesare awakens, he’ll have a sore head and a bruised ego. With any luck, I’ll be long gone and gathering intel for another job, miles away from that maniac.