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Archer… he had no problem thrusting his evil tongue between my legs.
Doesn’t sound all that bad right now, does it?
I cringe as I put the guitar strap around my neck.
Archer sits at the edge of the seat.
Staring at me.
The knife in his hand.
This is supposed to be insane.
I’m essentially being held at knifepoint. Forced to play guitar. And sing.
I strum the guitar.
A few chords.
I throw my hands into the air.
“Thank you, everyone!” I call out.
“Not even close, sweet thing,” Archer says. “I want more.”
I strum the guitar again. “This what you want?”
I can’t tell if my voice is being seductive.
Or if it’s working.
Archer stands up from the passenger seat of the golf cart.
I stop playing.
He steps toward me.
“Can’t get too close,” I say. “Or else I won’t be able to play.”
“Then I’ll stand right here,” he whispers. “But this can get closer…”
He extends his right hand.
The knife moves toward me.
This time… Archer places the knife to my chest.
My left breast.
My heart.
“You can’t stab my heart that easily,” I say.
“You’re right, sweet thing,” Archer whispers. “But one flick of this blade and your sweet throat…”
He clicks his tongue.
Chills begin at the back of my neck and go down my spine.
