I’m running out of time and options.

My captor finishes adjusting the light and is now recording a rambling, deranged manifesto.

“My name is Larry Reid. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I promise, after today, you’ll never forget my name. By the time you see this video, your girlfriend will be dead.”

He goes on to explain why he feels like Leo and Asher need to pay. The man is truly unhinged. He blames them for everything from his mother dying of a heart attack to his wife leaving him. His rage seems to increase with every word spoken, and I know this is it. If I don’t make my move now, I’m going to die alone in this filthy cellar.

“I realize now that I can’t take away your money, but I can make you suffer,” he says with a menacing glee that grates my nerves. He grabs the camera off the table and shoves it in my face. “I’m going to break your pretty little toy.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I plead. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not important to them. Please. Just let me go.”

“That’s good, whore. I want you to beg,” he says, laughing. “I want them to see how much people suffer around them. How much pain they cause.”

He pulls a knife out of his jacket and presses it under my chin. The sharp edge cuts painfully into my flesh, and warm blood slides down my neck.

“Larry. Please stop.” I need more time or a distraction. If I go for my makeshift weapon, he’ll cut my throat before I can do anything. I can’t hold back the hot stream of tears that spill down my face. I refuse to die like this. Without any options left, I take a deep breath and try to reason with him. “Don’t do this. They won’t care what you do to me. I’m nobody. I swear.”

But it’s like trying to bargain with a rabid dog. He doesn’t even hear the words I’m saying or just doesn’t care. Either way, I know deep down that this man is determined to kill me or worse.

He holds the camera back away from his body to frame us both in the shot like a teen making an Instagram video. The knife slides from my throat down to the neck of my shirt. “What should we do first?” he says, ignoring my pleas. “Filet you’re soft skin? Get right to the point? Or put on a little show?”

He easily cuts the thin fabric of my shirt right down the middle, exposing my chest to the cold, damp air. The tip of the knife digs into the skin of my left breast. He twists the point until red stains my bra.

“I could kill you. Fast. It would be so easy.” He presses a little hard, cutting deeper into the skin. But then he pulls back the knife and steps away, putting the camera back on the table. “But that doesn’t really make my point, now does it? As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about my plan. Now that you’re here and I’ve got all the time in the world, I’m going to go a different route.” His eyes trail down my body, licking his lips. “Killing you would be too easy. I think the best revenge would be to use you up and send you back to them. Spoiled rich kids don’t like broken toys.”

Bile rises in the back of my throat as I realize what he’s suggesting. I try to scramble away as he approaches, but my left arm is still tied. He yanks at the waistband of my pants, peeling them off, leaving me in just my underwear and ripped shirt. I kick, my foot connecting with the fleshy part of his middle. But it doesn’t deter him. He just laughs and unbuckles his belt.

“Please. Don’t. You sick fuck. Stay away from me.” I search frantically for the broken spindle; prepared to fight for my life, but Larry is on top of me in seconds. His grubby hands pull at my flesh. I kick out again, bucking underneath him.

“Hold still, bitch.” He palms my head and smashes it into the wall, causing my vision to go gray around the edges.

A crashing sound from upstairs draws his attention. This is my last chance. When he looks up, I scramble for the broken spindle on the ground. My fingers finally find the splintered wood behind me.

I only have one shot. My mind goes blank with an odd sense of calm clarity. I draw back, and I plunge the wooden spike into his neck with as much force as I can manage.

Time slows, and it’s like I’m watching the scene from outside of my body. Larry’s eyes go impossibly wide, and he lets out a roar. He rears back on his haunches, both his hands reaching for the spindle sticking out of his neck. The knife clatters to the ground. The thudding sounds from above grow louder; almost like footsteps. Larry pulls out the wood and blood sprays from his wound, covering everything with thick, red liquid.

“You bitch,” he chokes as a meaty hand encircles my neck. His slick blood is covering both of us now, and his fingers keep slipping as he tries to grab hold. “You stupid, fucking bitch!” Blood and spittle spray me as he yells. He keeps squeezing until I can’t take a breath.

There’s yelling from above. I strain to look, hoping beyond hope that someone is here to rescue me, but I can’t see anything. White spots cloud my vision, and the sound seems farther away. Larry collapses, crushing me beneath his weight. What little air I have in my lungs is pushed out by the force of his body hitting mine.

Above, I swear I hear my name. I try to call out, but I can’t take a breath. I can’t get enough air in my lungs. The gray edges close in. The last thing I hear before the world goes black is Asher’s voice.