57. Cassidy
Ethan goes down with barely a grunt of pain when Angelo hits him again. The candlestick glances off his temple, and Angelo stands over him for a few seconds before letting it drop to the ground by Ethan’s head.
The knife makes quick work of slicing through Ethan’s ropes. I’m holding my breath the whole time, desperately hoping that Ethan’s just playing dead, that he’ll jump up any minute now and tackle Angelo to the ground.
But he just lies there, blood trickling from the cut on his head, as Angelo bundles up the ropes and tosses them into a distant corner of the crypt.
The man turns his sights on me, and I nearly wet myself at the look of psychotic glee on his face.
I struggle valiantly, but the ropes are just as tight now as they were before.
“Now that we’re alone,” Angelo murmurs into my ear. “Time to make a mess of your panties, too.” He pats the tape over my mouth, giving me a slow, manic smile.
Oh fuck no.
Is that what’s in my mouth? Ethan’s decomposing fiancé’s underwear?
Bile rushes up my throat, but I force it down like my life depends on it, because it probably fucking does.
“Yeah, you get it.” Chuckling, Angelo slices through the duct tape on my right wrist.
As soon as my wrist is free, I try to grab the knife from him. He slams the hilt into the side of my face, and my head flops back as a wave of dizziness and pain crashes through me.
I moan, my head lolling forward, watching blearily as he frees my other arm. I make another weak grab for him, refusing to just sit back and die, but he brushes me off with a flick of his elbow.
He cuts through the rest of my ropes and drags me out of the chair. I try to kick him, but both my feet are numb and utterly useless. I collapse in front of Ethan, sobbing as I reach out to stroke his face with a shaking hand.
When his eyelids tremble, I quickly pluck my fingers away.
Oh my god, Ethan’s alive!
Angelo’s shoes come into view beside my head.
He crouches beside me, patting the duct tape over my mouth with his gloved hands as if to make sure it’s still stuck in place.
“I’d tell you that this will all be over soon. That it won’t hurt.”
Then he takes his knife and slides it down my dress, tip snagging on the fabric.
“But I’d be lying.”