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“The blade in the room is for you to use. Pick it up.”
Mercer glared at the red dot; challenge prominent in his eyes. Hate burning inside him, seeping into the room through flared nostrils.
“If Feebee hasn’t told you yet, she is the recipient of a heart transplant.”
If...meaning he hadn’t listened in on our conversations together...yet.
Our eyes met for a second, no doubt giving the creep a clue what we had been talking about.
“That heart belonged to the woman I loved. And I did not want it given to someone else. And because it was, I was left heartbroken.” We both sat motionless as he continued. “The scar on her chest sits jagged, a perfect crack in the heart you’ll carve around it, matching mine.”
Mercer’s head began to shake, the tension inside him rattling through his body.
“If you do this, you’ll be rewarded with a commode. You must both be bursting by now. Remember, Mercer, you appreciated my generosity before we had a guest.” The maniac chuckled.
I visibly shook, the voice, as much as its words, putting me on the knife’s edge, balancing between wanting to die and begging to live. I sucked my lip into my mouth, refusing to beg because this creep had already proved it wouldn’t help.
“Now, pick up the knife. I will only warn you once. If you fail, there will be a punishment for one of you.”
Mercer shook his head, determined that he wouldn’t hurt me.
“You have three minutes. Don’t go too deep. We don’t want her dying...today.”
Mercer’s head was still shaking. Faster, his decision cemented. I stopped him, placing a hand on his face before he snapped his neck.
“I won’t do it,” he mouthed, first to me, then to that little red light that terrorized us both. My hand left his face as he twisted to face it.
“I won’t fucking do it,” he mouthed again.
The ticking of the clock counted down to my doom. My body shook, eyeing the blade, but I tried to hide my fear, pulling my quivering lip behind chattering teeth.
“Tick, tock, Mercer.” The monster laughed.
The knife lay on the floor, waiting to be picked up. Mercer didn’t move, his head shaking again. Part of me was grateful he didn’t want to put one of his badly etched designs on my skin.
But my churning gut knew this would have to happen.
Mercer’s eyes grew watery from staring at the bright light. Mine, for another reason entirely.
The knife still waited for the man who wouldn’t move. Only when my arms started dragging me over to it did he look my way. I stopped moving, turning back to see his hand close around my ankle.
“No,” he mouthed in warning.
“We have to. It’s not our choice.” He wasn’t happy with my words and looked positively fuming when I stretched to claim the knife.
I knew his grip would have yanked me back if it didn’t mean the corrosive concrete would scrape off layers of my skin. My hand wrapped around the heavy metal handle, and I knew by the weight of it that our captor meant business.
He had told Mercer not to go too deep, but this blade was heavy. A little too much pressure with the tip in my skin could do so much damage.
“Try not to go too deep.” I feared the worst. I envisioned a slow and painful death where blood rushed from my wound and up my throat, thanks to the lung I feared him puncturing. I opened my hand, the heavy blade balancing in my palm.
He accepted it.
“One minute remaining.”
I laid back, closing my eyes before I hit the floor.
Metal rattled in the distance, that heavy blade bouncing off the far wall. My eyes sprung open, moving instantly to the blade as I shot back up. It had flown through the air like a boomerang, hitting that camera. But the red light still blared, just in a different direction. A low whining hum pierced the silence as the camera moved back to face us.
