Page 75 of Frat Row
He stumbles toward me, blocking the only pathway out of the room. I move backward, frantically looking for anything I canuse as a weapon around me. He manages to get inches from my face, and then he spits on me.
“You’re nothing but a slave, and it seems as though you need to be taught another lesson.” He jerks his hand out, wrapping it around my throat and choking me as he hoists me off the ground.
I pound on his arms to let me go, helplessly hoping he will release me as I run out of air.
Bang.
Martin falls to the ground, and I look up to see a shocked Tyler standing behind him with a metal rod.
I hold my throat with both hands, kneading the soreness. Locking eyes with Tyler, he wordlessly reaches for the small bag and gives me his open hand, letting me decide whether to take it.
There is no decision to make; our lives are dependent on escaping together.
I clasp Tyler’s hand as if it is the only thing keeping me in one piece, and we head to the door, hopping over Martin’s body.
Letting go of Tyler’s hand, I turn around and kick Martin in the face, ribs, and dick over and over as if I’m possessed.
Tyler wraps his arms around my waist and hauls me away from Martin. “There’s no time for your anger to take over; we have to go!”
Sheer panic ripples through my body as I realize I forgot one crucial detail of my escape. I yank Tyler by his wrist and turn to face him.
Bile lingers in my throat as I all but shriek, “They put a tracker in my neck. We have to get it out now!”
Tyler combs his fingers through his hair roughly as he paces back and forth. “Okay, okay, we can figure this out.”
He stops, and I look over at where his eyes land. It is a small toolbox.
Hurriedly, he sprints over to it, going through the drawers like a madman. When he finds what he is looking for, he runs back over to me.
My body is shivering uncontrollably as I see what is in his hands: a switchblade that looks relatively new and a pair of pliers that have seen better days.
“This is going to hurt, but you can’t move or make a sound,” Tyler states, looking me in the eyes.
I nod as tears form in the corners of my eyes.
He doesn’t hesitate as I wordlessly pull back my hair on the side of the neck it’s on.
“It’s a tiny scar, but I see it,” Tyler informs me.
I feel the cold metal of the blade sink into my neck, and with his fingers, Tyler spreads the wound open.
Feeling faint, I bite my lip so hard that the bitter taste of iron seeps into my mouth as I reach for Tyler’s shirt to steady myself.
That’s when I feel the pliers digging around in my neck.
“I see it, but it’s a little deeper and blinking red, just a few more seconds.” He huffs.
Whimpering, I squeeze Tyler’s shirt, trying to remain upright.
“Got it,” he murmurs.
I sink into his arms, and he pulls a rag he must have grabbed from the toolbox and places it on my neck.
“Apply a lot of pressure for as long as you can,” Tyler says.
I feel the blood trickling down my neck.
He takes hold of my hand, and we begin to ascend the stairs, running in sync with each other as Tyler leads the way.
