Elsie followed his gaze and went still.
A large biker hung upside down from the low branch of an old oak tree. His leather vest was coated in dust, his arms dangled weakly at his sides, and his face carried the signs of a hard struggle. He was breathing, but barely conscious.
Elsie’s heart hammered.
She was small. He was enormous. The woods were completely empty.
But the rope around his ankles was something she recognized.
Her grandfather had taught her knots.
And this one could be undone.
