Rules of Survival(56)

“Of course it is.” He sighed. “Hang on. I think I might be able—” He stretched again, this time pulling the cuffs so hard that both his wrists turned bright red—then white. “Reach…”

“It’ll be close, but I think you can get it,” I managed, cringing. There wasn’t enough room for my hand to fit between the bars. Deeds had threaded the cuffs through the frame, using the narrowest part. The harder Shaun pulled, the more it mashed my hand into the metal. But I didn’t say anything. If there was a chance he could reach the bag… “Be careful you don’t hurt yourself.”

“And what do you think Deeds is going to do?”

He kept pulling. I held my breath and squeezed both eyes closed. It felt like the pressure was going to snap my wrist in half. When I dared open my eyes, I saw a thin red trail of liquid trickling down from the bar as the edge of the cuff bit into my skin. Another violent jerk, and a gasp sprang from my lips.

“I—almost—have—it!” With a final grunt, the bag slipped sideways and tipped over, the cell spilling out onto the floor. He turned to me. “We did—” His expression fell. “Fuck! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m okay,” I insisted, pulling on the chain a bit. I tried flexing my fingers, but a sharp pain shot through my hand. “It’ll be okay in a sec.”

“Kayla, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Do not apologize. It was the only way.” I nodded to the fallen bag. The cell was easily within reach now. Nothing else mattered. “And it worked. Hurry. Grab it and call Patrick before that wacko gets back.”

His stricken expression morphed into one of determination as he angled his foot and swept the rug. He almost got it on the second swipe, but a car door slammed outside the room. “No!” he growled.

“Quick,” I said, sneaking a peek at the door. “Kick the bag over so it’s covering the phone. Maybe he won’t notice.”

Shaun kicked out, the edge of his sneaker catching the strap of the bag. He was able to drag it over the phone and pull his leg back just as the door opened and Deeds stumbled inside.

He paused in the doorway, looking from Shaun to me with a suspicious glare. “What’ve you been doing since I left?”

Even with him standing by the door, fresh air breezing through behind, I could smell it. Beer. The pungent scent wafted into the room and quickly overpowered everything—including the flowery air freshener. And that was a serious feat.

I waved my good hand back and forth, cringing. “Better question is what have you been doing?”

“Don’t give me lip, missy.” He stomped across the floor—stumbling several times—and fell hard onto the bed. For a minute all he did was stare. “How old’re you?”

“Huh?”

“Age,” he slurred. “As in, what is yours?”

Next to me, Shaun tensed. “Why?”

“Mind your own business,” Deeds barked before turning back to me. “Age?”

He pulled one of the keys from his back pocket and unsteadily reached down to unlock my foot. Waving the other one annoyingly close to my face, he wobbled slightly and repeated himself. “Age?”

“Eighteen,” I said through clenched teeth.

His lips split with a wicked grin. “Well, how about that.” Rocking to his left, and then to his right, he finally managed to stand. I didn’t think he’d stay upright—but he did. Tugging on the second set of cuffs to test them, he said, “Old enough for adult activity.”

Shaun snarled and made a swipe for him, but all it did was jar both our wrists—and amuse Deeds.

For some reason, he found Shaun’s reaction funny. No. Not just funny. He found it hysterical. He was laughing so hard, that I thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen—which would actually have been a good thing—or at the very least, piss himself.

“Do you”—he wheezed, hitching a thumb in my direction—“do you have a thing for the walking pile of cash here?”

Shaun didn’t answer, but the look on his face made me kind of glad he was restrained.

“What would daddy have to say?” he continued. “Or maybe that’s why you’re here alone, eh? Daddy didn’t want to share?”

“You’re a dick when you’re drunk, Deeds,” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from Shaun. He looked ready to explode, and if he lunged for him again, I was positive he’d break my wrist in the process. “Actually, you’re probably a dick sober, too.”

“Kayla,” Shaun warned in a low voice. He was still staring at Grayson.

“No, it’s okay,” Deeds said—although it sounded more like Nooosoookai. He bent down and seized my chin, clammy fingers digging into the skin. Fetid breath reeking of beer and what I’d guessed were days without using a toothbrush turned my stomach as it puffed across my face. More than the smell, though, was his close proximity. If he brought his face any closer, we’d be touching. I didn’t know if I could handle that without “spazzing,” as Shaun had put it so eloquently. “I like this one. Has some kick to her. Bet we could have some fun.”

“Back away from her,” Shaun snarled. “If you touch her again, I’ll f*cking kill you.”