The younger of the two men, the one whittling a long sharp stick, pulled out his cell phone. “Buyer says she’s worth the same dead or alive.”
“Lucky for us,” the second man said, his eyes lit up with the prospect of my death.
“Whatever he’s willing to give you, I can double it!” Would they see my bluff?
The man who stood above me tilted his head to the side and leaned down, knife in hand. The blade scratched my cheek. His putrid breath smelled of stale coffee. “Yes, but I enjoy listening to the screams of a helpless woman when I stab her repeatedly. What fun is it for me if I let you live? This way I get the money and my fun.” He winked at me.
I leaned forward, coughing up bile.
His fingers yanked at my hair, pulling me to stand. He did nothing to help the throbbing sensation in my head except make it worse. I clutched my forehead with one hand and the wall behind me with the other to keep from losing my balance. “Let me go.” I would not be helpless. I kicked him in the groin. He was swift, the blade of the knife pressed on my neck, my body tight against the cold cement wall.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked, leaning in his sick breath against my cheeks.
The hairs on my arms stood on end, and a chill ran down my spine. I’d had plenty of practice fighting at the agency with a dummy knife, but under pressure, everything was different. Fight or flight, and I froze.