Mortal Sin (The Seven Deadly Sins Book 3) by Allison Brennan

Author:Allison Brennan [Brennan, Allison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allison Brennan
Published: 2014-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Moira felt like shit.

As soon as they’d left the tunnels, Phineas, the leader of Gabriel’s Sword, had drugged her. She shouldn’t have gone. She knew that—Rico had trained her to fight. Never be taken.

That they didn’t want her dead—no, only drain her blood, she thought—gave her the time to figure a way out of this mess. She was confident they couldn’t break her. She’d been tortured by her mother, possessed by a demon, and had watched her mentor, Father Philip, die.

Phineas and his people couldn’t do anything to her that hadn’t already been done.

So she would bide her time and use what she knew about the organization against them. Because while they might know of her, they didn’t know her.

She just didn’t count on feeling like death warmed over. Her head hurt, her limbs were limp, and she was restrained. Her eyelids were heavy, and she imagined that was from whatever drugs they’d injected her with.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. She was alone in a large room. It smelled old, a bit musty and worn, almost like a library that had recently been dusted, but not thoroughly cleaned. It was a nice enough room with dark paneling and built in shelves and turn-of-the-century furniture. Four tall, narrow windows were covered with a dark damask drapery. If she was on the second story, she could jump out. Third story? Maybe. But if she broke her ankle, she wouldn’t be going far.

She was tired. She didn’t like drugs—beer, she could handle. The occasional shots of Jack Daniels, no problem. But she stayed away from drugs. Whatever they’d dosed her with had knocked her out, and she felt like she’d been out for hours. Worse, her body felt sore. Tender and bruised liked she’d spent an hour being tossed around in a cement mixer.

She looked at her restraints. A shackle. They’d shackled her right wrist to the floor. But just one. She was right handed, but damn good with her left hand. She reached into her jeans pocket and dug around in the seams for a bobby pin she kept there. Her movements were hindered, like she was swimming in molasses. Not good. And she was thirsty. Escape, then find water.

She’d survived on her own many times. She’d been held captive and escaped. Most recently when some wannabe bloodsuckers locked her in a basement. She’d gone a little batty—she didn’t like being locked up in the dark—but she’d managed. And she escaped and stopped the blood demon-worshipping bastards. Being locked up in an airy room with antique furniture was hardly a problem.

Before she attempted to pick the lock, she paused and listened. She might be alone in this room, but there were people in the house. Not too far off—maybe outside the door. Faint voices. A clink of dishware. Great, they’d chained her up and sat down to enjoy their dinner. Just peachy.

Moira didn’t have time on her side. She shook her head to clear it.

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