I’ve had worse done to me. I’ve done worse—I’ve scarred my flesh deeper than these razors can cut. I dig through the bin without a single wince for Nelson.
I don’t need to try every key here. I know what I’m looking for. I know what the grooves of the teeth will feel like, how they’ll slide into the keyhole and turn easily with that satisfyingclick. My favorite sound other than London’s soft voice.
This trap was designed for me.
A buzz sounds, then I hear the hiss of the lift. London’s body lowers closer.
Blood stains the silver key as I pull it free. I inspect it quickly, then lay it on the concrete. I dive back in. Fine slashes assault my wrists. Blades carve into my flesh, flaying my skin. But I press on until I find the second, and the third.
Sweat stings my eyes and I’m shaking with adrenaline by the time I unearth the final key.
I rest my forearms on the edge of the tub and take measured breaths. Then I get to my feet, the keys gripped in my bloodied hands.
On the Houdini lock, I twist the beveled screw on the backside loose, then slip in the key and twist. The lock pops open, and I toss it to the floor, the sandbag falls free. “Hang on, love. I’m coming to you.”
The next puzzle lock is just as simple. I realize—while I’m sliding the gold flap on the front sideways to align the inner mechanism—that this isn’t the trap. Nelson knows I can pick a lock—can pickanylock. I’m waiting for the real fun to begin.
The second lock clicks open. The weight releases, and I grab the cable before it can zip across the lift bar. “Grab hold of the beam above you,” I shout to London.
With her wrists freed, she grasps ahold of the lift arm and clings to the steel beam.
I fill my lungs, taking a full breath as I move to the last lock. The key slips out of my hand, slippery from my blood, and I curse. The gears on the lift grind, and I look up to see it drop another few inches.
Her toes hit the solution. London’s pained cry is muffled, but the agony of it slices through my chest more painfully than a million razors.
She pulls her knees toward her waist, keeping away from the solution. But she’s in pain. She’s getting weak.
“Hold on—” The final lock springs open.
I race across the garage and scale a large shipping container to reach the lift. “I’m here.” Seating myself on the edge of the beam, I grab hold of London’s arms and help her wrap them around my neck. She’s trembling as I bring her to my chest.
I work the wire rope free from around her waist. Then I tell her to keep an arm around me as I guide her across the machineand onto the container. I glance around the shop, seeking Nelson. He remains hidden.
I quickly inspect her feet. Only her toes suffered the solution, but she needs to treat and dress them.
London digs at the tape over her mouth and pries it off, leaving angry red skin behind. “This isn’t the whole trap?—”
“I know.” As gently as I can, I ease the tape from her eyes. She winces at the sting. She blinks a few times to clear her vision. “Are you okay?”
She nods repeatedly, still shaky with adrenaline and her sweat-slicked, exposed skin. “I’ll be fine, but I need to get you to a doctor.”
At my confused expression, she palms my face between her trembling hands. “The razors?—”
“Were tipped with aconite.”
Nelson stands at the base of the container, gun aimed up at us. I pull London behind my back.
“That’s amazing,” Nelson says. “A selfless, heroic psychopathic killer. I believe that’s an oxymoron.”
I can feel it now—the poison coursing through my system.
A clamminess blankets my skin. Spikes of cold and hot prickle my body; nerve endings misfiring. My muscles twitch, spasms starting to set in. Nausea will soon follow. Convulsions. Paralysis. Asphyxiation.
An excruciating death.
How long has it been since the first blade sliced my skin? Five…six minutes?
I don’t have much time.
