Just do it.
The words whispered through her mind, and Whitney realized that she meant them. She was tired of being forced to do things against her will, tired of living as a prisoner, tired of never being free to be in charge of her own life.
Maybe it would be better if Blade just killed her here and now without any more suffering. Strangled or stabbed through her heart, she didn't really care, either worked and in the end the result would be the same.
Instead of fighting against the encroaching darkness, Whitney allowed herself to fall toward it.
Soon.
It would all be over soon.
Right as she was about to slip into unconsciousness, the pressure around her neck was suddenly gone.
For a second, her lungs couldn’t quite figure out what to do.
Should they inhale a lifesaving breath, or should they do what they’d been prepared to and just give in to the peacefulness of death?
A sharp slap on her back took the decision out of her hands, and she gasped and choked on the oxygen that flooded her system.
“Breathe,” a voice ordered. The harsh command seemed to seep inside her body, and she was powerless to do anything other than obey.
Another breath followed the first, then a third, and a fourth. Gradually, the choking ceased as her breathing evened out and became more natural.
Slowly, her vision cleared, and the forest, bathed in the soft glow of twilight, came back into view. Standing right before her was a man with dark hair and eyes as black as the darkest night. He was staring at her with an expression she wasn't sure she’d be able to read even if she hadn't just nearly died.
“Breathe,” he ordered again, and this time a hand lifted to settle on her head, sweeping gently down her hair. If she didn't know without a shadow of a doubt that the man hated her, she would have described the gesture as tender.
But he did hate her.
With good reason.
She was the one who had created the drug that had stolen a decade of his life from him. Forever changed him. Forced him to leave everything behind and hide away from the rest of the world.
“S-sorry,” she stammered. If only a simple apology was enough to undo the mess she’d created.
Instead of accepting her apology—which she hadn't expected him to do—or to yell at her some more, maybe slice her open again, tell her he only didn't want her to die because she deserved to suffer a much longer, more agonizing death, he merely shook his head.
“I don’t believe you,” Blade said. Once again, he circled her neck with his long fingers, only this time he didn't squeeze, if anything, he almost caressed the bruises she was sure were already beginning to form.
He didn't believe her?
Why wouldn't he? After all, he knew who she worked for. Was it that much of a stretch to believe this had all started because of her?
“You're too young. I don’t know how old you are, but you're not thirty like your fake ID says. Even if you were, that would make you only twenty a decade ago when my team and I were injected with the drugs. You wouldn't even have been old enough to graduate college, let alone create a drug like that.”
Oh dear.
If he thought twenty was too young to have graduated from college and created the drug, he certainly wasn't going to believe her if she told him he was a decade off.
But what else could she do?
She’d come this far, she had to follow through, had to tell him the truth. Even if he tortured and killed her afterward, she’d give him every bit of information she had on Dr. Gardner, although granted it wasn't a lot.
“I was ten,” she whispered, letting her head drop, unable to look at him while she bared her greatest sins to one of her victims.
“Uh-uh.” The hand on her neck shifted slightly, cupping her jaw and tilting her head back up so she had no choice but tomeet his gaze. That or close her eyes to block him out, and that seemed too childish.
Seemed impossible too.
