Page 48 of Heart Stopping
"I don't like him." Archer had his knife out and pointing at Taylor-Francis. He pulled the sheets back from him and slid the blade right into the bottom of his foot.
Taylor-Francis woke with a squeal of pain that sounded like a pig.
"What the hell?" He jerked his foot away, sending blood spraying all over the white sheets. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He drew his foot up and jammed his finger into the hole, making his hairy stomach bulge wider.
"Nice one," I told Archer.
Right in the arch of the asshole's foot. Nowthatwas poetic.
"Thanks. I should have researched how long it takes to die from a stab wound to the foot." Archer sounded annoyed with himself.
"I don't know, but I have a feeling it's a long time," I said. Honestly, I was surprised he didn't have that knowledge on hand, but here we were.
"You're right," he said. "A stab to the stomach could take few hours. The foot would be much longer."
"What they hell are you talking about?" Taylor-Francis scrambled back up to the end of the bed, mouth hanging open. "What do you want? Do you want money? I can give you money. As much as you need. Just, please, don't hurt me."
I couldn't help noticing he didn't even look for his wife. I'd like to say I was surprised, but I wasn't. Men like him, they only looked out for themselves.
"I don't need money," I said. "I've got plenty."
"Then what do you want? I know people. Whatever you need, I can pull strings." He was becoming increasingly desperate, eyes frantic at the amount of blood drenching the bed.
"A nice slice of the groin, right through the femoral artery, works nicely," I said. "If you don't mind having your hand so close to a tiny penis."
Apparently his foot wasn't so bad anymore, because his hands flew up to cover his dick.
"Please," he begged. "I'll give you anything.Anything." He glanced down, at least self-aware enough to be revolted as he pissed himself on his own fingers.
"See, that's the problem with people like you," Archer said, stalking closer. "You're okay with hurting women, but when it comes to yourself? You're a quivering bowl of Jell-O." He didn't attempt to mask the contempt in his voice.
"I don't…" Now Taylor-Francis glanced around. "It was an accident. Whatever she told you, I didn't mean it. I'll be more careful next time." But his expression was angry, not repentant. He'd convinced himself she'd brought us in somehow. If we took his word for it and left, he'd take it out on her. He'd probably kill her.
"No, you won't," Archer said. "If we walk out of here, you'll do the exact same things over and over. Sable doesn't deserve the things you did to her."
Of course he'd know her name. He would have researched her before we got here. Some of it might even be accurate. When it came to famous people, the Internet wasn't known for being a source of facts. Some ridiculous rumor was always circulating. Usually multiple.
"It was an accident," Taylor-Francis insisted. "She fell."
"Falling doesn't usually leave handprints," Archer pointed out. "I'd be willing to bet that in less than one percent of falls,handprints were involved. When they were, it was only because someone was trying to stop them from falling."
Taylor-Francis seized on that. "That's what happened. She tripped and I tried to save her."
"Do you usually catch people on their breasts?" I asked. I'd seen finger marks there.
"I have a theory," Archer said.
"If your theory is this guy is a lying fuck, I agree," I said.
"So do I, but that wasn't my theory," Archer said. "My theory is he has no heart. That's my hypothesis. My proposal is that I test this hypothesis by carving a hole in his chest and taking a look."
"No!" Taylor-Francis scrambled back so fast he fell off the opposite side of the bed with a thud. Looking dazed, he clambered to his feet and pressed his back against the window. "Don't come any closer."
"What will you do, beat us to death with your tiny penis?" I asked. I was careful not to look at it. Life was traumatic enough without subjecting myself to a sight like that.
"I'll scream," he said, frantically looking for Sable, who was definitely not coming to his rescue. He tried to back up as Archer and I closed in on him.
"I usually prefer things to be less messy than this," I said, sighing at the bloody footprints on the carpet.
