-Friedrich Nietzsche She stared at the wall in front of her, her lips dry and her face aching. Her left eye was swollen shut from her chat with the man who turned out to be the leader of the band of misfits. Oleksiy had not been pleased with her refusal to answer his questions. She licked her lips and winced at the taste of her own blood. Jerk. She hoped he tripped and fell down the stairs. For the hundredth time, she shifted in the chair and tried to wriggle an arm free. She muttered under her breath, as she twisted her good arm between the coils of rope. If they thought she was just going to sit there like a damsel in distress, they had another think coming. She kept one eye on the door to the stairs and ignored the rasp of the rope on her skin. It was worth it if she could get free. Straining her shoulder to the point of pain, her fingers finally found freedom. The rest of her hand and arm followed seconds later. She grinned.
