Page 9 of Through The Woods

Cold metal pressed into my lower spine and I fought the urge to scream again, knowing it was the quickest way to end up dead. I didn’t have the slightest clue what ‘it’ was, but I wasn’t about to let the guy holding a weapon on me know that.

“I—I don’t know. Clint will be here any second and he can help you…” My voice was foreign to my ears. It spoke with a calmness I most certainly did not feel.

There’d been threats against Clint before, but no one had ever gone this far. No one was that stupid.

“Okay, bitch. You’re going to pass along a message—you think you can do that?”

I nodded quickly as the metal dug into my spine.

“Good girl. Clint has twenty-four hours to get me the money. If he doesn’t, what happened to you will be just the beginning. Got it?”

As my brain fought against the fear to determine what he meant, something sharp sank into my side. He quickly pulled the blade out and ran the edge of it down my throat, leaving a wet trail.

“Try to stay conscious long enough to deliver the message.” The man let go of me and my knees immediately buckled.

My side burned as if it was on fire and my vision blurred from the pain. I waited until I heard him leave before crawling toward the kitchen. My tank top grew wetter with each movement and I began to feel lightheaded.

Just a few more feet and I’d be close enough to grab the phone.

I came to right outside the kitchen. The only difference was that every light in the house was now blazing around me, but I had no idea how long I’d been lying like this.

“Clint?” I whispered.

I heard his footsteps draw closer and I instinctively wanted to curl myself into a ball.

“Neve?” He gave me a puzzled look. “What the fuck are you doing on the floor?”

I pointed to my side and the carpet drenched in my blood. “There was a m-m-man—said you had twenty-four hours—stabbed me.” My words were nothing more than jumbled nonsense, thanks to my tears.

He stared down at me, his eyes filled with concern and fear. “Jesus, Nevvie, you’re bleeding all over the fucking place. Hold onto me.”

I gave a silent prayer of thanks that Addict Clint hadn’t shown up tonight. He pulled me to my feet and I swayed unsteadily against him, my grip on his shirt loosening. “Clint…”

His grip tightened on my arms as he pulled me over toward the sofa. “Sit down, baby.”

I dropped back against the cushions with a loud groan of pain as Clint sat down beside me. His hands felt along my side before he gently lifted the material away from my skin. “Tell me what happened,” he commanded.

I closed my eyes as exhaustion clouded my thoughts, struggling to remember even the smallest of details. “I didn’t see his face. Is there—” I paused as a wave of pain washed over me. “Is there someone you owe money to?”

Clint stared through the front window, refusing to look at me. I thought that he’d check me over again; at the very least, tell me what the hell was going on. He did none of those things. He focused on the coffee table in front of him, straightening three lines of coke with a razor blade on a large mirror lying on the surface.

“You know what we’re gonna do, baby? We’re gonna ask the mirror to give us the answer. You get a little snow in you and the bleeding’ll stop. ‘Kay?”

I nodded. Maybe he was right. I just needed a little bump to take the edge off.

Clint took the shell of a broken pen and snorted a line. Then he stared expectantly at his reflection in the mirror. He was doing that a lot more lately; staring into the damn thing as if it held the secrets of the universe.

He passed the pen over to me and held my hair back as I forced my body to bend down and slowly inhale the middle line. I pushed off the coffee table and fell back against the cushions with my eyes closed. “The trunk is most frequently stabbed in cases of penetrating trauma. However, only subcutaneous tissue is affected eighty-five percent of the time. Did you know that?” I panted through each breath, fear wrapping its tendrils around my chest.

Clint patted my head before snorting the last line and continuing his staring contest with his reflection.

Within a few minutes, my heart rate increased and I knew that he was right. The coke was healing my body—it was probably coagulating all the blood at this very moment. I didn’t even hurt as badly. Maybe I wouldn’t need to go to the hospital after all.

“Let’s go!” Clint leapt up off the couch, startling me with the volume of his voice. He grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet. “We’re going to pick up Trev. He’ll know what to do.”

---