Free Burn by Sarah Fine and Walter Jury Page B

related to Congers, too. Maybe his son, because he was looking at Congers in a way that was all too familiar. He’s eager to prove himself and doesn’t want to mess up. Which means I can mess with
him.
    â€œPlease? I swear. I’m going to shit my pants if you don’t help me out.”
    From the hallway, there’s a sigh. Then Graham walks in briskly, pulling the handcuff key from his pocket. He unlocks my feet first, then quickly unlatches my cuffs—but re-cuffs my hands in front of me when I stand up. He pulls his gun and presses it into my back.
    â€œTo the right,” he says in a clipped voice. “And, Tate, I can’t kill you, but there are at least five places I could shoot that are nonfatal but extremely painful. Please don’t fuck around.”
    My muscles go tight. He might be green, but he kind of reminds me of . . . me. “Got it.”
    I’m a very good prisoner as he escorts me down the hall to the bathroom. For the first several steps, I’m testing my balance, trying to rid my head of the wooziness that comes along with being pounded upside the skull. I’m not at my best, but I can do damage. And I’m going to have to if I want to get out of this. I use my next few seconds to assess my surroundings. Sprinkler system, stairwell six doors from the bathroom. Leo and Christina might be in one of the rooms between here and there. I look over my shoulder at Graham, noting a stairwell far behind him. “Eyes front,” he snaps.
    I comply. But now I know there are two points of exit. I wonder if they’re locked.
    And I wonder if Graham has the key.
    He keeps his weapon nestled against my side—probably one of the five places he could nail that would leave me bleeding and broken but not dying—and swings the bathroom door open. It’s a dingy little space, and he shoves me inside. “You have five minutes.”
    I groan. “It might take a little longer than that.”
    â€œYou have five minutes.” He slams the door.
    I flick the light on with my elbow and am thrilled when the blower fan comes on as well. I need every bit of cover for the noise I might make. As quick as I can, I shift the lid off the tank and moan loudly as I reach into the water and fumble with the chain and hook that lift the seal cap when the toilet is flushed. Closing my eyes to focus, I operate by touch, using the S-shaped hook to pick my cuffs and blowing quiet relief through my pursed lips when I feel them give. I only want them loose, so that’s good enough. I replace the hook and groan again, hoping Graham is too grossed out to hover close. After another minute, I flush the toilet and run the faucet, then dry my hands. I make sure my cuffs look locked, and then I kick at the closed door. “I’m done!”
    A moment later, the door opens, and Graham ushers me into the hall, pausing to look into the bathroom to see if anything’s out of place, but not looking
too
close because he thinks it would stink to high hell. His weapon is holstered, so I guess I’ve convinced him I’m not a threat. While he does his cursory inspection, I peer up and down the hall to confirm we’re pretty much alone in this corridor full of closed office doors and stairs on either end. Leo said he was next to the stairs, but that doesn’t help me too much.
    All it tells me is that I need to move fast. “So,” I say. “What’s it like to work for your dad?”
    Graham doesn’t answer, which tells me that I’m totally right. He’s Congers’s son.
    â€œI bet he’s a hard-ass. Difficult to please. Maybe impossible to please.”
    No answer. But he does press his weapon against my ribs, a warning. I’m getting to him.
    â€œSeemed like you were trying to impress him earlier. Especially with that roundhouse shot to my head. Did it earn Daddy’s approval?” I glance back to see Graham’s jaw