8
No Ties
When the lights came back on, I was in a chair, in a living area, in an apartment. The drugs wore off quickly, meaning they mustn’t have stuck me with a big dose. I instinctively fought to free myself from my ties.
Only, there were no ties. The chair wasn’t even the kind you could tie someone to. It was a dark-green leather armchair my bum had already sunk way into.
I looked around the apartment for escape routes and saw the New York skyline through high-rising windows that appeared sealed shut.
I looked over to the door to the main living space, which was locked. And bound to be guarded from the outside.
I heard a quiet muttering behind me. An English accent. The posh, plum in cheek kind. I turned in my chair to see a short, plump man in his fifties on a phone; dressed sma
