“Listen, you can fight all you want, but if you keep this up, I can always just stab you in the eye and pluck it out. Do you want that?”
As if to show he isn’t bluffing, he grabs Miles’s head and positions the ice pick against his cheek.
Miles cries and finally opens his eye.
“That’s better. You might feel a little pinch.”
Easton uses his thumb to push up Miles’s brow.
And Miles screams.
Fifty-One
This is all a nightmare. Every second of it, from the moment my parents found out I was gay until now. I need to wake up.
It doesn’t matter how much my muscles ache or how raw my throat feels as I beg Easton to stop. This can’t be real. It can’t possibly be happening.
But it is.
As Easton narrates what he’s doing, I try not to listen. I pull at my restraints with all the strength I have. The tape has left a tacky mess on my hands, but my knuckles have disappeared under it.
I yank hard, and my right hand is free.
But my fingers are so sweaty that when I go to find a place to tear the tape around my left hand, I can’t get a good grip.
Valencia keeps crying, begging Easton not to do this. And I still can’t get my other hand free. I look around, trying to find something I can use. But there’s nothing within reach.
Then I remember the house key Valencia gave me. I reach into the fifth pocket of my jeans, and there it is on its key ring. I rake the teeth against the duct tape securing my hand to the chair, watching the back of Easton’s head as I saw away. Easton made his speech sound like this would all be quick and easy, so I have no idea how much timeI have. But the fear in Miles’s muffled screams is my barometer. As long as he’s screaming, it means it’s not too late.
The tape starts to shred so I saw harder and harder, trying to keep my movements as slight as possible so Easton doesn’t notice.
The tape rips, and it’s enough to pull myself free if I keep moving my hand, so I focus the key on my legs. His taping wasn’t as secure here—only wrapping around twice. I cut it easily, and by the time I’m scraping at my left leg, my left hand is free.
I look up to see Valencia watching me as she yells over and over at Easton to stop, trying to be as distracting as possible. It seems to be working.
Easton turns to her and I freeze. “Mom. Please shut up!” He takes another breath and returns to what he’s doing as Miles tries in vain to speak through the tape covering his mouth.
The tape on my leg rips and I jump up.
I expect Easton to turn, see me, and run right at me. But when I’m halfway to the workbench I glance back, and he’s still focused on Miles. His back is to me.
And to the gun on the counter.
I snatch the gun up, making sure the safety is off like Marcus showed me, and aim it at Easton’s back. I should shoot him right now and end this.
But he has an ice pick pressing against my friend’s skull.
One slip and he could blind him in that eye. Or kill him.
“Easton, stop!” I yell.
His head spins to look at the empty chair behind him. Then slowly he turns to see me with the gun.
My hands are shaking and my muscles still ache with the strain oftrying to get loose from the duct tape. But I hold the butt of the gun to steady it, and I know my aim is good enough. From this close, I can shoot him. But not until Miles is safe.
“Stop what you’re doing and back away, now,” I say.
He grins and stands slowly. I keep my eyes locked on his. But he takes a step toward me, clutching the ice pick.
