difficult. Ethan usually drew it out with one finger pressing the knife against his thigh for leveraging pressure.
Dez drew back and puffed out a breath. Trying to get at the knife with only his teeth wasn’t working.
Footfalls echoed outside the bathroom door. Dez lay his cheek on the tile, feigning unconsciousness. Shadowed steps moved beneath the edge of the door.
Dez braced for whoever might come in. Ethan’s breaths seemed to grow louder in the stillness.
Finally the shadow moved on and the footfalls retreated. Dez counted off a good ten minutes before moving again.
This wasn’t working.
He rolled onto his other side, his back to Ethan now.
If one thing failed, try another. That sentiment had gotten him and Ethan, and then later Alexander, out of more gone-to-hell situations than he cared to remember.
Scooting back against Ethan’s thigh, he got back to it. Working blind with his arms in an uncomfortable position, he twisted his bound wrists one way and then another, trying to find the best angle to retrieve the blasted thing.
He dug his shoulder hard into the floor to get his forefinger on top of the blade.
Ah. There. Just a little more–the ball of his shoulder protested. The throbbing in his skull intensified. Sweat sluiced down his face into the curve of his agonized collarbone.
He got it.
The almost non-existent hilt of the knife slid along the callous of his finger. He hooked it with the edge of his fingernail and oh-so-carefully dragged it along the rough seam.
The footfalls from outside the door returned. Dez clenched his jaw, sliding the blade out. He had enough of it out that he felt the smooth metal on his warm skin down to the first knuckle.
Shadows moved beneath the door. More than one man this time. He worked the blade up another inch. He had it between his thumb and forefinger now. Hushed voices carried through the wood. The door swung inward.
Dez pulled the rest of the blade out, ripping through the last inch of Ethan’s seam, curled his fingers around the knife and rolled onto his stomach.
Hopefully with his hands exposed and still obviously bound, they wouldn’t give much notice to them. Steps reverberated through the tile as the men entered and walked around them.
“Huh. This one’s been squirming around on the floor like a silverfish.” Hank grabbed Dez by the arms and shoved him over onto his back.
The shock of landing on his bound arms radiated through his shoulders.
“Are you a silverfish, then?” Hank’s light eyes glittered. Sadistic brute was enjoying this.
Dez ignored him and snarled at Sheppard. “What’d you do with Alexander?”
The big guy frowned, uncrossing his arms. “You saw. I did nothing. Leave the vermin to their own.” He sighed and crouched down to hover over Dez’s vulnerable position. Hank and Richards stood just behind him. “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand you cared for…the boy…but you and your friend must realize we’ll never truly be rid of monsters as long as there are any abominations of magic about.
“They brought this upon us. We’ll never be free until we’re rid of them all.”
Dez stared into the man’s features, a cold dread sinking into his gut. Sheppard believed that. He believed every sick filthy word he was spouting. What’s more, he believed Alexander was dead. It hadn’t been some sort of trick.
Not a trick of Sheppard’s doing at any rate.
Dez wasn’t sure what to believe himself, but until he saw evidence otherwise, he wasn’t giving up on the kid.
Alexander was a sorcerer, descended of sorcerers of the highest order—whatever the hell that meant—so had a few tricks of his own. No way would he simply let filthy murderous scum like Sheppard get the better of him. No way.
Except Sheppard had threatened him and Ethan , the voice of doubt whispered his fear. Alexander would sacrifice himself to give them a chance. Stupid little idiot.
Dez tried to push up but his own arms trapped beneath him