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Then I do the damn thing.
The edge of the knife slicing against my skin is a sharp, indelicate pain. I bite my lip to hold in the sound and force myself to draw the blade down a solid albeit shallow inch so that a thin stream of blood is unleashed. Keeping my teeth in my lip, I smear my fingers through the blood and then smear that into my panties.
Shit. Not thick enough…
I pull my panties completely off and return to my leg. I brace myself and slice another cut right next to the first one, letting it go a little deeper. When the blood begins to well, I dab my panties right on the wounds themselves, sopping up as much blood as I possibly can.
There we go. It’s not a complete bloodbath, but it’ll do. What are the odds that these two goons even know what they’re looking for? I don’t think they’re exactly OBGYN-certified.
Crossing fingers and toes here that I’m right in that department.
Satisfied with my handiwork, I rummage through the medicine cabinet and find some basic bandages and disinfectant. I shove my pajama bottoms into my mouth as I pour straight rubbing alcohol over my cuts. I allow myself to screech into them, knowing they’ll be muffled, but even with that outlet for my pain, my stomach turns and I have to fight off a wave of nausea.
You can do this, girl. Just hold on long enough to give them no choice but to believe your story.
Once I have my leg bandaged up as good as it’ll get, I hide the knife in the trash bin and slip my pajama pants on without my panties. I suck in a breath and get ready for part two of my big break-out.
This is the scene that’ll win me the Oscar.
I burst out of the bathroom, letting the door slam hard against the wall. I let out a loud, dramatic wail that’s sure to get their attention.
And boy, does it.
Both of them materialize in front of me, guns out and at the ready. When they see it’s just me, they look perplexed.
“What—”
“My baby!” I scream. I hold my panties out to Blondie, who immediately backs away as if I’m holding a rat covered in plague. “My baby! Please, I need a doctor!”
Bozo’s brows furrow and he, too, backs up.
“What… are you talking about?” He sounds disappointed, like he was hoping there was some real action about to go down.
I shove down how insulting that feels. “My baby! I’m pregnant and I’m bleeding! I need to see a doctor now!”
The pair exchange another glance. “Mr. Dalton said we weren’t supposed to let you go anywhere unless he said so?—”
“Listen, it’s not even that much blood, right?—”
I let out a hysteric, ear-splitting wail. “You’re gonna let my baby die!” I cry. “How could you? What did I ever do to you? What is Reese gonna think when he finds out?!”
It’s that last part that has them exchanging another look before Blondie sighs. “Okay. Okay, fuck, alright. We’re not too far from a hospital. Can you last, like… thirty minutes…?”
“Please, just take me to a hospital!”
Blondie’s expression tells me that he would rather be doing anything other than what he is now. Well, too bad for him. Maybe he’ll think twice about taking on another job like this in the future. He’s as much to blame for this as Reese is and I don’t feel sorry for him. For either of them, actually.
Bozo ushers me outside, his hands on my shoulders as he coaxes me into one of the blacked-out SUVs that have remained parked outside the cabin this entire time. Frigid air blows onto me as soon as he turns the car on and I start to shiver.
“It’s cold,” I whimper. “Heat, please?”
He hurriedly snaps the heat on. The sadistic side of me is pleased to see him start to sweat bullets in his all-black getup.
Serves him right.
Blondie leaps in the car and we take off. I keep up the occasional wail as he drives us from the boonies into something that resembles civilization. Every bump we hit, I make sure to let him know, and every time he starts going a little too slow, I snap that we need to hurry. I’ve got Blondie on edge, which is right where I want him. He needs to be more than sick of me by the time we get to the hospital.
The facility he brings me to is smaller than any hospital I’ve ever been to in Dallas—but it’ll do. I know that I can still lose him in it, especially if he’s already done with my shit, as fake as that shit may be.
