Chapter Twelve

Lexi

Ihiss as he draws another line in my flesh, deeper than the last on my collarbone. It’ll need stitches, if I make it out of this alive. I look at the window of the door and wonder briefly if Kai will do them for me. There is no one there right now.

Slowly, cautiously, I reach my arms around, feeling for anything that can help me and curse myself for throwing it all. I stretch out as far as I can without distracting him from his fixation. When my fingers brush a cool cylindrical object, a crazy idea hits me.

“They are here you know, outside the door, waiting for the opportunity to kill you.”

I whisper. The knife stills, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the crimson that now seeps into the collar of my top. Six lines of fire including the ‘papercut’ on my neck are slowly depleting me of lifeforce. More will follow, unless this works.

“You’re lying.”

My smile is knowing and his gaze shifts to mine.

“It doesn’t matter to them if I die, but their business, well, they can’t have mistakes. A murderer on their staff isn’t something they can overlook.”

I don’t know if I believe my words or not, what matters is if he believes them. He looks unsure for the first time, and inside I’m screaming for him to take the bait.

“Why haven’t they come in yet?”

His tone is somewhat smug, but his head turns, just barely to see if he can see the window from his periphery. He can’t, he would need to move, turn fully to see behind him, giving me an opportunity.

“Why not ask them?”

I know he won't get up and ask, but that’s not what I need. I just need him distracted.

I want to live.

Finally he shifts his body, spinning around to face the door, the knife moving with him away from my body. I take in a breath, this is it. It’s time to fight. The paperweight is clutched tightly in my hand at the ready. I have never been more thankful than feeling the ball shaped weight that had rolled its way back to me.

With all the momentum I possess, I slam the glass weight into the back of his skull. The thwack of it connecting is a sickening sound, but I can’t think about it as I raise it again. He needs to drop that knife. I need to fight.

I don’t know how the thing had survived the impact the first time, nor the second, but on the third, when my captor turned his head with a roar, it smashed into a million pieces into his face. I close my eyes from the spray of glass, feeling some catch my skin. The crack of his nose is clear in the room, and so is the sound of the knife dropping to the floor.

Opening my eyes, I desperately search the room, spotting the glint of metal and scrambling for it. Though difficult with a hefty man astride me, the desperate need to get there before he can spurs me on. He is howling, hands over his eyes, blood streaming from his nose, but I barely even take the information in as I grip hold of the weapon. Without thought, I plunge the knife into his body still atop me, again and again. Over and over.

A distant banging thunders through the room; I don’t stop. I keep thrusting the knife, I’m not safe. I need to fight. I feel the blood coating my hands, dripping down my face and through my hair, but I can’t stop. Not until I am sure I am safe.

It’s not until arms wrap around me, and the still body that drapes over mine has been dragged off me, that I realise I have been screaming.