Page 62 of Shai

no longer looked fresh and clean, as if even being in McIntyre’s compound had contaminated it. Although, that was probably more to do with the beating. I slowly unwound the bandage to reveal Callaghan’s neat line of stitches. Somewhere within that wound, assuming it hadn’t been one of Shai’s sick games, was a razorblade. It wouldn’t be the perfect weapon, but it was better than nothing. How the fuck was I supposed to get to it? I knew the answer though, didn’t I? The wound was only a couple of days old. It was a long way from being healed. Therefore, it was simply a matter of ripping the stitches and shoving my fingers inside to locate the blade. My stomach roiled at the idea and I had to take a couple of deep, calming breaths.

My gaze flicked to the stairs that led up to the door. How long did I have before they’d come for me again? Hours? Minutes? My fingers hovered above the wound.

I couldn’t do it. It was completely against all my instincts to maim myself in that way. It was like trying to put my arm in the snake’s tank all over again. I breathed out, the air cold enough for a cloud of water vapor to form. “Do you want a weapon, or don’t you, Elijah?” It was my voice, but I couldn’t help feeling I’d channeled Shai in some way. If he were here, he’d goad me into doing exactly what he wanted. Either that or he’d tell me that I was stronger than I thought I was, that I knew how to do what was necessary.

I dug in, a strange sound escaping from my lips as I separated skin from stitches far more easily than I could have hoped for, the skin tearing. There was too much blood to be able to see anything, so I closed my eyes, relying on feel alone. It was easier that way. Less visceral and more practical. It hurt, but next to the pain of all the bruises I carried, it was nothing.

There. Something solid.

I dug deeper, the object difficult to grasp when my fingers were so slippery. Only when I’d extracted it did I open my eyes, a sense of victory filling me at the sight of the small rectangular item, the razorblade having been placed in some sort of covering before being inserted in my arm. I put it to one side, needing to do damage control on my arm first. There was nothing I could do about the wound, apart from hope I wouldn’t lose so much blood that it rendered the action of removing the razorblade pointless. I did the best job I could to wind the bandage back around my forearm and to fasten it, the blood already starting to soak through.

At least blood on its own wouldn’t arouse suspicion, given there were several places on my body from where it was also oozing. Bandage back in place, I pulled the sleeve of my hoodie down to cover it. Picking up the rectangular object, I examined the strange coating. Silicone? Or something else? It didn’t really matter. Whatever it was, I peeled it off, careful not to cut myself as I exposed the deadly sharp blade that lay beneath and placed it on the floor next to the small glass bottle. It didn’t seem enough to go up against Macintyre. But it was all I had, so it would have to be.

Do or die. It was time to find out if I really was a survivor.

Elijah

A LL I COULD DO WAS WAIT, some hours passing before the door opened and footsteps came down the stairs. Harris. On his own this time. “The boss requests your presence.”

The pattern of McIntyre’s compound was all too familiar. They’d whale on me, shove me somewhere out of sight for a few hours, and then snap their fingers when they got bored enough to remember I existed. And then the whole cycle would start all over again. Sometimes the space between beatings was hours, and at other times it could be days.

For once, I was glad that the time had been so short. Void withdrawal was already taking its toll on my mental acuity. Much longer and I didn’t know whether

I would have been capable of mounting any sort of attack, the craving too intense for me to concentrate on anything else but my need for the drug.

I kept my hands curled into fists around their secret bounty as Harris pulled me to my feet. I would only get one chance to take McIntyre down. I had to make it count. The knowledge burrowed under my skin, my pulse kicking into overdrive at the thought of failing. I could have used that razorblade to slit my wrists. Harris would have found nothing but a corpse when he came to collect me, my blood spreading across the basement floor. Funny, how that hadn’t even occurred to me until now.

I was taken back to the same central room, the smell of food hitting me immediately and filling my head with a sense of optimism. If McIntyre was eating, there was a chance. A slim one, but a chance nevertheless. Indian takeaway—spicy food. I could almost see Shai’s smile in my head. I scanned the room, taking in any information that might be useful. About ten men were in there—the usual crowd. They were in two groups, one sitting and eating, while the other—the ones who presumably weren’t on guard duty—stood with a beer in their hand. As for McIntyre, he was on his throne, his hard stare burning a hole in me as Harris prodded me across the room.

My gaze dropped to the Styrofoam container next to McIntyre’s chair, a

frisson of excitement taking root in my veins. If I could get close enough to pour the cyanide in, then McIntyre’s days on this planet were numbered. Sweat poured from my brow as a multitude of thoughts flashed through my head at rapid speed, the biggest of them all, the word, how. How was I going to do it?

“Are you hungry, Elijah?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t. Not for food anyway. If he’d been dangling

Void in front of me, it would have been a different matter. I would have bitten his hand off, the cold grip of withdrawal having escalated over the last few hours while I’d been biding my time in the basement.

A look of displeasure settled on McIntyre’s face, as if he wasn’t happy

that I would dare to not be hungry when he thought I should be. I needed to get closer to him without arousing suspicion. What did McIntyre want from me? I couldn’t give him Shai’s head on a platter. What else would distract him enough that I could make my move?

The answer was all too obvious. I needed to fluff his ego. I needed to

give him the one thing he’d asked for over and over again, even though it would kill me to do so. I took a deep breath. It was a means to an end. A painful necessity that would help me to accomplish something far more important.

McIntyre leaned over, reaching for the container next to his chair. I needed it to stay where it was. “I’ll kneel for you. I mean, I want to

kneel for you.”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning my way. McIntyre’s fingers grazed

the Styrofoam and slid away as he straightened to stare at me, his head tipping to one side. He crooked a finger to gesture me closer, and I went.

Still not close enough.

I kept my gaze fixed on McIntyre, not daring to look at the food container, in case McIntyre somehow worked out what I was up to. A smirk played on his lips. “And what’s brought on this sudden change of heart?”