Page 87 of A Fine Line

All I need is a second. One second. One misstep. The nearest margin of hesitation to give me an opportunity to fuck around.

And then, every one of these motherfuckers is gonna fucking die.

I manage to doze off briefly, and I’m jarred awake by an obnoxious creaking sound. I blink up into the darkness, and it takes me a few moments to recall where I am, but as soon as I do, that crushing weight is back on my chest.

I listen intently, taking stock of varying voices, tones, and footfalls in an attempt to assess what will be waiting for me when they finally crack this fucker open.

I’m not a huge fan of enclosed spaces, but I don’t have any problems with claustrophobia like a lot of people do. I’ve intentionally slept in smaller places than this, though, I suppose the intentional part makes it a little easier.

I work at controlling my breathing, pushing down that edge of despair that attempts to pull me under and lock me there. I know my mind is telling me the people I love are dead, but I also know you can’t trust the stressed mind. You can only trust what you see with your actual eyes, and until I see some bodies, I have to believe that they’re all alive and likely pissed off.

The scraping of stone on stone draws my attention above me, and I crane my head back at the initial crack of light blinding me. I squeeze my eyes shut and relax as the lid slides open loudly, and I try not to think about the fact that they’ve been storing me basically in the fucking ground.

I pretend to be asleep, passed out, knocked out, or whatever the fuck will give me an opportunity to kill someone.

I lie there, waiting for a few moments, and then a voice says, “There’s no point in pretending not to be awake. You’re not gonna get any openings to escape either way.”

Hands grab onto me and pull me up and backward as they drag me out of the box. I contemplate remaining a deadweight, then figure no good can come of it, so I get my feet under me and stand as I open my eyes and look around, taking note of the swarm of men surrounding me.

Not ideal, but also not impossible.

I yawn, and the same voice speaks again. “Are we boring you, Mr. Andersen?”

“Maybe bored isn’t the right word. How about underwhelmed?”

I look up and see a bearded man around my height and build standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, and he snorts and says, “I won’t lie and say your reputation does not proceed you. That’s why there are more men in here than you could ever hope to defeat on your own rather than the handful we would normally have in this situation. Now, we can do this one of two ways. Either you move on your own two feet where we want to take you, or we put you in chains and take you there anyway. You decide.”

I squint and say, “If my reputation truly preceded me, you’d already have me in chains.”

His arms drop to his side as a corner of his mouth curls up in amusement, then he shakes his head. “You’re gonna end up in chains, eventually, but I was saving us the hassle of having to take them on and off. But we could do them now if you prefer.”

I put my hands up in mock surrender. “Nope, that’s quite all right. Lead the way.”

He’s correct in his belief that I couldn’t take out this many people at the same time. Maybe if I got my hands on some weapons, preferably a gun, but a knife would also work, I’d be able to take out enough of them to persuade the others to switch sides. But even then, unlikely.

He leads the way out of the room, a group of men falling in behind him, and then the rest around and behind me. It feels silly, but I applaud the man for thinking ahead, even if a good many of these men look like boys who would piss their pants if I said so much as boo to them.

We walk down a narrow hallway, and I make note of the old stone surrounding us, as well as the narrow, high windows, leading me to believe that we’re partially underground.

We go down a narrow, stone staircase into another stone room, but this one is windowless, and there’s a drain in the middle of it. The man turns to me and asks, “You gonna strip yourself, or you gonna make us do it for you?”

I don’t even blink as I quip, “Aren’t you gonna buy me dinner first?”

“So, the rumors about you are true, I see,” he replies blandly.

I throw him my trademark arrogant smirk but say nothing as I pull my shirt over my head and throw it into a far corner in the hopes it stays dry. I kick off my shoes, shove my pants down my legs, and throw all of it to the edge of the room.

I stand there completely nude, wishing I had some pockets to put my hands in, when he nods to someone behind me, and a whirring noise draws my attention above me. A chain with a hook on the end of it lowers, and now I do grimace because being left with your arms above your head for an extended period of time sucks ass, especially since it appears they’re gonna leave me here naked, wet, and cold, a game that is not at all my favorite.

On the other side of that, there’s a slim chance they won’t secure me appropriately to the hook, and I’ll be able to get myself out of it, so I pretend to be a little more distressed than I am about my current predicament.

“Looks fun, doesn’t it?” the bearded man asks pleasantly.

“I still think you should’ve bought me dinner first, but I guess it is what it is.”

I don’t bother struggling as they walk me forward, so I’m standing beneath the suspended hook. I hold my hands out in front of me helpfully, intentionally holding my hands at such an angle that it makes them a tad wider than they really are. They pull my arms over my head, securing a chain between my shackled wrists and hanging it from the hook. Then the whirring clank of it being lifted above me echoes around the room until I’m suspended appropriately in the air.

And it sucks just as much as I remember.

---