They were going to drown me.

I forced myself to breathe slowly, keeping my gasps silent.

I had to get my hands free.

I slid my wrists down the rough surface of the concrete foundation, searching for anything sharp.

My fingers brushed against a rusted metal bolt protruding from the bottom of a wooden support beam.

I pressed the thick plastic zip-tie against the jagged edge of the bolt.

The metal was blunt, but it was my only chance.

I began to rub the plastic back and forth, slowly, trying to minimize the sound.

The friction burned my skin, the sharp plastic cutting deeper into my wrists.

I ignored the warm drip of blood sliding down my palms.

“Where is the car?” Evelyn asked outside.

“In the alley behind the warehouse,” Marcus said. “I’ll go check the ignition.”

“Don’t take too long,” she said. “I don’t like staying in one place when Russo’s men are on the streets.”

“He doesn’t know about this safehouse,” Marcus insisted. “Nobody does.”

“Dante Russo has eyes everywhere, Marcus,” Evelyn snapped. “Do not underestimate him.”

I kept sawing the plastic against the rusted bolt.