Beyond Ransom (The Ransom Series) by A.T. Douglas

gentle
harming my own body than if I let Mark or one of his men do it.  The reality I
know to be true is that I’m trying to maintain some
form of the power I’ve felt since last night.  I want that control in any way I
can get it.
    Mark nudges the man holding the knife. 
“Give it to her.”
    The man looks up at his boss in shock. 
He clearly disagrees with the decision that’s been made.
    This is working out even better than I
thought.  I’m causing discord among Mark’s own ranks.
    “Give her the fucking knife, Willis, or
do I need to test its sharpness on you first?”
    That’s all the encouragement the man
needs.  He extends the knife to me hesitantly , and I cautiously accept it.
    It’s a small blade, but its precise
edge tells me it’s plenty sharp.  It takes me a moment to figure out how to do
this.  Mark was right when he said my shoulder issue would make this harder.
    Holding the knife on my injured side, I
slowly bring my other hand close to it.  There’s a shakiness in the movement
that I can’t control, as if some part of me is fighting back against my actions
from the inside.  I will past it, though, and touch the blade to my skin.
    It’s a sharp, almost burning pain
across the tip of my forefinger.  Crimson blood instantly pools out of it and
begins to drip down my finger toward my palm.  I quickly turn my finger
downward toward the paper to write my message.
    In all the commotion , I didn’t even consider what I’d write.  This is my chance to communicate
with my parents, and for a moment I’m clueless what to say.
    There are so many things I would be
expected to say–that I love them and miss them, that I’m okay and holding on
for them to save me–but I quickly find that there is only one thing to say to
them.
    In the time it’s taken for me to come
up with my message , a few drops of blood have already
fallen onto the page.  I feel like I’m involved in some fucked - up art project as I slowly draw my bleeding finger over the paper.
    Even though the message is short, it
takes a second fresh cut to pull enough wet blood to write it.
     
    I’m so sorry.
    – M
     
    When I’m finished , I ball my hand into a fist to help stop the residual bleeding.  In
the metallic scent around me and the red liquid spread over the page in front
of me , I suddenly feel surrounded by blood, and for a
moment I panic at what I just did and the message I’ve just written.
    Mark grabs the paper from the table and
inspects it, the psycho teacher reviewing his student’s work.  His mouth turns
into the widest grin.   “Well done.  I think your
family will love it.”  He pats me on my injured shoulder, causing me to wince. 
“Now to take care of this little problem.  It’s your lucky day, though.  Leo is
an expert at resetting dislocated shoulders.”
    Leo stands up before Mark even finishes
talking.  He looks pissed off, more than ready to get me out of this room.  He
grabs me by the other arm to pull me up to standing.
    “Oh, and Leo,” Mark says as we’re about
to reach the door.  “Take the girl to the showers.  I don’t need her stinking
up the place.”
    My eyes go wide as the whole room
groans loudly in disappointment.  Leo apparently just won the damn lottery.
    He nods back at Mark before pushing me
out the door.

11
     
    Protocol
     
    “What the fuck were you thinking?”  Leo
is angry with me as we’re walking down the hallway, and I can’t deny that it
scares me to see this side of him.  “I didn’t even have to be in the room to
know you did something to provoke Mark into knocking your shoulder out of its
socket.”
    I stop in my tracks behind Leo,
becoming increasingly angry that he’s upset with me for pushing back a little,
for standing up to Mark and not giving in to his every fucking wish.
    Leo comes to a halt and turns around,
approaching me with his hand extended like he’s going to grab my arm and drag
me, but I pull away before he reaches me.
    My