Tyler lets out a snort, a quiet laugh slipping out after.
His chest rises and falls as sweat trickles down his face, and a moment of raw fear breaks through.
“Sometimes I’m the buyer, and I’m always the transporter, the first and last piece of the puzzle,” he pants out, “Placement.”
“Placement,” I repeat, the word rotten in my mouth as my stomach turns in disgust.
Placement is such a harmless word for what they are really doing. As though organs aren’t being ripped from innocenthuman beings and trafficked across borders like merchandise. As if someone’s family member didn’t die terrified on a metal table, so another piece of filth with enough money could keep breathing.
My thumb connects with the corner of his mouth as I brush the blood, smearing it across his bottom lip, tenderly back and forth.
He stills at the invasive touch, his entire frame tensing as discomfort crawls noticeably across him.
“You don’t answer to the cartel,” I continue, regarding him with cold fascination on how something wearing human skin could become this corrupt. “You keep it alive. A snake can’t strike without blood pumping through its body, and that’s what you are. The vein feeding the beast while it hides in the dark, pretending its hands stay clean.”
I crouch in front of him, impelling his gaze to meet mine.
“You think killing me changes anything?” he rasps, blood coating his teeth as he struggles against the restraints. “You cut me down, and another man takes my place tomorrow. That’s how this works. You can’t stop it.”
I go eerily still, then I smile, entertained.
“You know,” I boast, still crouching in front of him, “I’m feeling generous today.”
His expression flickers with hope, and he releases a breath that sounds close to a sob.
I scoot forward, elbows resting on my knees like we’re discussing the weather instead of organ trafficking.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I smile as though I’m offering him a kindness. “If you can walk out of here,” my smile widens, “I’ll let you go.”
The room falls silent.
He gawks at me, trying to decide if this is real.
Behind me, I hear Tyler move. The sound is deliberate, a silent reminder that he’s still there, still watching my back.
“You’re insane.” The confession tears out of him.
“No,” I throw my head back and laugh. “Insane would’ve been letting you keep doing this.”
Then I tenderly pull his feet toward me with my blade glinting in my hand, and in one motion, I slash through both of his Achilles tendons.
A broken, primal sound rips out of him, so raw and desperate it scrapes through the walls as his entire body convulses from the pain.
Then I whip my blade through his restraints that bind him to the chair, the zip ties parting one by one before I straighten slowly to my feet.
“Stand up,” I say sweetly, stepping back to give him room. “If you can walk out of here, I’ll let you go.”
He lurches forward; both hands braced on the seat of the chair as he propels himself upright. His entire body shakes from the effort, legs wobbling violently beneath him like they can barely remember how to hold his weight. Blood streaks down his ankles and the back of his feet, puddling beneath him as he pulls in tortured breaths through bared teeth.
For one suspended second, he thinks he’s going to do it.
Then he takes a step.
A wet, tearing sound splits through the room.
His leg gives out instantly.
The back of his ankle opens as the severed tendon ruptures completely open under his weight, flesh peeling as his body collapses sideways with a strangled scream. His knees slam onto the floor first with a sickening thud, hands scraping uselessly at the vinyl while agony detonates across his face.
