Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO Chapter 28: Mr. Slap-Happy Kidnapper

VANESSA BELMONT

This was my second chance life. I doubted I would get another one.

I scanned the room. Concrete walls. No windows. A single vent in the corner, rusted and looking like a great place to pick up tetanus. It wasn’t large enough to crawl through.

My muscles ached from hours of being bound. If I could find sothing sharp, maybe I could saw through the zip ties. My eyes darted to the tal leg of the chair I was tied to, its rough weld marks just visible in the dim light. Worth a try.

I shifted, testing the give in the restraints. Pain flared as the plastic dug deeper, but I ignored it. Every second counted. The footsteps outside had faded, but I knew Mr. Slap-Happy Kidnapper would return. And maybe next ti, they would figure out Nathan didn’t give a crap about .

I’d be so pissed if I ended up dead again.

I rocked the chair, testing its balance. If I tipped it just right ... A crash would bring them running, but what other choice did I have?

I took a breath. Then, with a sudden jerk, I threw my weight sideways. The chair slamd to the ground, the impact jolting through my ribs. But the rusted leg snapped—and now I had a tool to help escape the zip ties.

Now ca the hard part.

I shifted my weight, testing the chair’s stability. Cheap tal legs, bolted to a plastic seat. Not ideal, but not impossible.

I rocked forward, slamming the chair legs against the ground. Once. Twice. On the third try, the bolt holding the back leg snapped. The chair lurched, and I threw myself to the side, crashing onto the concrete. The impact sent a shock wave of pain through my ribs, but I gritted my teeth and rolled, and grabbed the broken chair leg to saw at the zip-tie around my wrists.

It was slow going. The angle was awkward. My hands were sweaty and had limited motion.

But then...

Plastic frayed. Snapped.

My hands were free.

The door handle rattled.

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the broken chair leg and lunged just as the door swung open.

Viktor’s masked face appeared. His head tilted slightly, as if processing I was not where I was supposed to be.

I didn’t give him ti to register what was happening. With a desperate surge of adrenaline, I drove the jagged tal shard deep into his thigh, feeling the resistance of fabric and muscle before it gave way.

Ugh. Gross, gross, gross!

A guttural roar tore from his throat, raw with pain and fury. He staggered back, one hand clutching at the wound as the other flailed for balance.

I bolted through the door, my pulse screaming in my ears. The hallway stretched before , a blur of flickering lights and shadowed doorways. My breath ca in ragged gasps as I sprinted, every instinct screaming run, run, run—because if Viktor got up, if he followed, I was dead.

Gunfire exploded. Bullets pinged against concrete walls, but I was already around the next corner, hauling ass.

I checked the doors lining the hallway and found one unlocked. I hurried into the room shutting and locked the door.

No ti to breathe. No ti to think.

I sprinted for the window.

I grabbed a rusted pipe from the floor and swung. Glass shattered. Cold night air rushed in, and I climbed through, ignoring the shards slicing into my palms.

Outside, the world was a maze of warehouses and chain-link fences. No lights. No people. Just the distant hum of traffic and the sound of my own ragged breathing.

I ran.

Bare feet slapped against cracked pavent. Every step sent fire through my ribs, but I pushed harder, faster, until the warehouses blurred and the shouts behind faded.

I didn’t stop until my legs gave out.

Collapsing behind a Dumpster, I pressed a hand to my side, feeling the sticky warmth of blood. Terrific. Note to self: Avoid getting kidnapped in the future. It’s a horrible experience. Zero stars.

However, I was still alive, so that was good.

My bare feet were shredded from the pavent, my clothes torn and clinging to with sweat and gri. Every breath sent a sharp ache through my ribs, and the tallic tang of blood lingered in my mouth. Exhaustion weighed down like lead, my muscles trembling from adrenaline. My body was mad at , for sure. Like, I would need a lot of donuts to make up for this debacle.

Also, I really needed to start working out. I had no muscles or stamina. Not that I planned to be in any more life-threatening situations, but still ... given my recent luck, I might need a gym mbership.

The alley reeked of rotting food and motor oil, the Dumpster beside offering little cover beyond its rusted bulk. Distant shouts echoed from the warehouse district—Viktor’s n, probably fanning out to search for . I needed to move. Now.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself onto my knees, biting back a whimper as glass shards embedded in my palms pressed deeper. My vision swam, but I blinked hard, trying to focus. Stay or go? What were my chances for either choice?

I dragged myself forward, using the Dumpster for support. The world tilted dangerously, but I clung to consciousness. One step. Another. My legs threatened to buckle, but I kept going, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Then—headlights.

A car turned into the alley, its high beams cutting through the darkness like twin searchlights. I froze, my pulse jackhamring in my throat. The engine purred, too smooth, too controlled. Not a random passerby.

The car rolled closer, tires crunching.

I ducked lower, pressing myself against the Dumpster, but it was too late. The beams pinned in place, illuminating my torn clothes, my bloodied hands. The engine cut. Silence.

A door opened.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

My fingers curled around a broken bottle nearby, the jagged edge my only weapon. It wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be.

The shadow stretched toward , long and ominous.

I held my breath.

Who was it? Viktor? One of his n? Or soone worse?

The footsteps stopped.

Heart pounding, I looked into the face of the driver. "It’s you?"