Page 46 of The Taskmaster
She didn’t offer me a drink. She didn’t offer me anything, and even walked past her telephone sitting on a side table in the hallway without a care. Maybe she hadn’t paid her bills and had been cut off? It didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to make a phone call.
“There’s a plug,” she said sharply, pointing to an electrical socket by the door to her living room. Then she sat back down on her armchair, with her back to me. So rude... and so perfect.
I put my backpack on the floor and bent down. But it wasn’t a phone charger I pulled from inside. It was a wrench. And I took a deep breath, lifted it up and then crashed it into the side of her head with an almighty thud.
Her head fell forward, and I took slow steps forward, peering around the armchair to check she was knocked out. A small gash at the side of her head was trickling with blood, and her eyeswere closed. I didn’t know how long I had left to set everything up, but I didn’t want to waste time. So, I threw the wrench to the floor, grabbed the rolls of duct tape and started to wind it around her body, pinning her to the chair.
Round and round I wound the tape, over her chest and the back of the armchair, around her ankles so she couldn’t kick out. I used zip ties to tie her wrists so she couldn’t fight. I got through two rolls of tape before she started to stir, groaning and gurgling as her eyes flickered.
I had questions she needed to answer, and she needed to be frightened in order to give me what I wanted. I knew that. So I went into her kitchen and started pulling the drawers out, looking for a decent knife to use. The old wooden kitchen drawers clattered to the floor as I yanked on them, cutlery falling everywhere, and eventually, when I found a large carving knife, I grabbed it and stalked back into the living room, leaving a holy mess in the kitchen behind me.
And what I saw when I walked back in almost made me drop the knife.
Angela Maynard was sitting in the armchair with her eyes wide. Duct tape covered her mouth, but she wasn’t trying to make a sound.
And there, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms folded, and a peculiar frown on his face as he stared right at her, was Isaiah.
Chapter Thirty
ISAIAH
Icouldn’t believe what I was seeing. It wasn’t often I was speechless, but tonight, I was.
I turned to look at Abigail as she stood in the doorway, looking like she was about to throw up, holding a knife I wasn’t sure she had the balls to use.
“Please...” I gestured from her to the woman strapped to the armchair. “Don’t stop on my account.”
I wasn’t sure she’d speak; she looked mortified that she had company. Then she stated in a monotone voice, “You need to leave.”
I smirked and dipped my head, then peered up at her as I said, “I don’t think that’d be a good idea, do you?”
“You have no idea what you’ve walked into. But you need to turn around and leave. Trust me.”
“On the contrary, Abigail, I know exactly what I’ve walked into, and I have to admit, although part of me is...” I shrugged, trying to find the right word. “Intrigued, the other half of me is appalled.”
“Then leave.”
“Oh, I’m not appalled at what you’re about to do here. Don’t get me wrong. I’m appalled that your planning has been so shoddy.”
“Excuse me?” She popped her hip, her grip on the knife tightening, but I wasn’t scared. I thought it was cute.
“As kill rooms go, Abigail, this is the worst one I’ve seen, and trust me, I’ve seen a lot.”
She took a few deep breaths, holding her tongue before snapping, “I have no idea what you’re on about.”
That made me throw my head back and laugh.
“Come on, the duct tape, the gash on her head.” I pointed at her hand. “The knife. Don’t tell me you cut the phone wires to a house that hasn’t had a working phone for over two years to pay a cosy visit. What’s the knife for? Are you cutting a cake?” I leaned back like I was peering around her into the kitchen. “Nope.” I pointed behind her. “And that kitchen does not look party ready.”
She frowned so hard I’d bet her forehead was aching.
“Two years?” she responded. “The phone hasn’t worked for two years?”
I grinned to myself.
“Some of us know how to do our homework. I could teach you a lot.” I glanced around the room with a disapproving look and shook my head. “Including how to create the perfect kill room.”
She didn’t respond. Just stood there holding the damn knife and glaring at me.
