Cut Me Free (26 page)

His grin fades. “Yes, you do. You must not realize how much. You don't let yourself. I will show you,” he continues, his voice turning desperate as he steps closer, towering over me. “After we get rid of him.”

“No!” I shout, and force my body to obey as I climb slowly to my feet. I hear that familiar humming and I don't know if it's coming from Sam or me.

Brothers's face tightens and he speaks through gritted teeth. “Untie him.”

I blink at him in confusion, dreading Brothers's intentions. His words have shattered me inside in a way I haven't felt for a long time. Even as broken as I feel, I recognize that no matter what, our chances of surviving this are better with Cam free. Crouching, I do as ordered without a word.

“You okay?” Cam asks as he rubs his wrists together. His eyes speak to me, begging me to cling to the truth I
know
, but I can barely see him through the haze of my own fear for his life—and mine.

“No.” My voice is low, lost amid the dreadful memories in my head.

He bends his knees, his eyes searching mine, and I see my own fear reflected there. “Me neither.”

His eyes are so kind. He's so strong. My skin prickles with fire and ice. I don't know what Brothers wants now and I don't care. I just have to find a way to get Cam out of here, but my mind is a soup of confusion and denial. I can't focus enough to find a way around the gun barrel pointed straight at my chest.

“I untied him and we had a conversation,” I say. Brothers is pacing again and I'm not sure he even hears me speak. “Are we done?”

Click—click—click—click—

Brothers skids to a stop in front of one of the shelves and mutters under his breath. It's like he's forgotten we're here, but when Cam shifts his weight, the gun is pointing straight at him before I can blink. The dark smile playing around the corners of Brothers's mouth fills me with dread. He reaches in the box closest to him and draws out a dusty old mason jar. A few spiderwebs remain inside, but other than that it looks empty.

He lifts it toward us and his lips split into a full grin. “We'll see which role you play, but one of you will have to pay.”

“Rhymes now?” He has clearly developed a new plan and the panic is gone, but for some reason I feel dread instead of relief. Swallowing hard, I meet Cam's gaze before speaking again. “What do you mean?”

“You refuse to see yourself clearly, so I guess I have to prove it to you.” He sounds like he's barely holding back laughter, and my stomach rolls as understanding dawns. I've rarely wanted to hurt someone this bad in my life—and that's really saying something. “I can see the knife sticking out of your sock. Now use it. Fill it to the top.”

“Sick psychopath,” Cam mutters under his breath.

“I'm going to let you choose. You cut him”—Brothers glances from me to Cam—“or he cuts you.”

 

27

Brothers's laughter echoes through the room as Cam and I stare at each other.

My voice comes out low and foreign. “Not going to happen.”

“If you want out, if you want me to leave you alone like you say, this is the first step to make it happen.” All hint of humor is gone now. His voice is loud in the cold room, and my head vibrates with his words as he turns the gun to Cam, then back to me. “Make her bleed or I will.”

I press my fingers against my forehead. There has to be an answer. There's always an escape somehow. I've gotten out of worse situations than this—well, worse is debatable, but similar.

My brain whirls through the possibilities. Cam blinks at the gun, his skin paling. I'm more likely to survive being cut than being shot. I try to think it through.

“And no little slices.” Brothers's voice is lilting, almost singsong. He places the mason jar on the floor and rolls it into my foot. A tiny spider skitters out across the floor. “Fill the jar.”

“This guy is seriously twisted,” Cam whispers to me. His eyes are still glued to the barrel of the gun in Brothers's hand.

“What do you know about the human body?” I grab Cam's chin in my hand and turn his face until his eyes finally come to rest on mine. “Focus. We need to get out of here.”

“Are you seriously considering it?” He frowns. “You can't believe he'll actually live up to his part of the bargain.”

“I don't know. Maybe, maybe not, but I'm not seeing any other way out that doesn't include one or both of us getting shot. Are you?” No windows, no large vents, no other doors. The only way out is through Brothers and his gun. “I have to do something.”

Nowhere to hide. Always nowhere to hide.

“Not helping, Sam,” I mutter, and press both fists against my temples.

“Sam?” Cam speaks his name and I clamp my jaw shut. Now is really not the time.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

We have to fill it with blood to get out. The jar seems bigger every second. Can a person lose that much blood without dying? Brothers watches us silently. He has regained control and it shows. His hands are steady, his gun level … he waits.

“If we each filled it halfway, would we still have enough blood to stay alive?”

Cam nods. “Yes, it's not that much if we split it.”

“No!” Brothers bellows, and then continues more quietly. “One of you only.”

I glare at him. “You're asking us to kill each other.”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs, seeming bored by my statement. “Depends how fast you bleed, how deep you cut. Too shallow and it loses its fun, too deep and it's over too quick. You have to learn how to make it last.”

I freeze and stare at the floor between my feet. There really is no other option and I know it. Still, my brain and my body refuse to respond. All I can see is blood, so much blood—my world is stained red. That jar is so big—too much for only one of us.

“Charlotte.”

Always blood. I hate it.

“Piper.” Cam grabs my arm and squeezes gently until I look up.

“He's a monster. People are monsters,” I say, as I blink and blink, but my eyes won't focus on him.

“Not everyone … I promise. It's okay. One of us can do it and survive,
if
the other one calls an ambulance as soon as we're out.”

“Ticktock, Piper. I don't have all day. Are you going to cut your boyfriend, wait for him to cut you, or should I shoot you both for entertainment?”

“You said you're good with first aid…” I remind Cam of his claims from when my side was bleeding at his studio. My hands are damp with just the thought of what I'm about to do. “I hope that was the truth.”

A thousand tiny bolts of electric fear go from my spine to every finger as I reach down, pull the knife out of my sock, and slip it out of the washcloth. I raise it to my arm and take a breath. It's just one more cut, like hundreds before it. Just one more slice, just one more scar. I can do this. I
will
do this—for Cam. Before I can press it against my skin, Cam has his hands clamped around both of my wrists, holding them apart.

His hazel eyes are panicked and desperate. “Stop! What are you doing?”

“I'm giving him what he wants.” I push against his grip, but he's too strong for me. “We need to get out of here.”

Cam bends his knees until his eyes are at my level and waits until I stop struggling. His expression changes abruptly, becoming grim and decided. It confuses me. “You're sure this is our only option?”

The hopelessness bubbling up inside spills out in my voice, and it cracks. “I won't watch him shoot you.”

“Okay, but be quick.” Cam twists my hands in his and before I realize what he's doing it's too late. “I won't have much time.”

“No! Stop, Cam!” Holding my wrist so tight it hurts, he takes my hand with the blade and presses it down hard—too hard—against his opposite forearm. The blood comes immediately. He trembles a little before releasing me and holding his hand over the jar.

“Why did you do that? This is my fault.” I reach out for the jar and his arm, wanting to make it stop, to make him take it back. But I can't. I pull my hands back in and squeeze them across my stomach. The now-bloody knife clatters to the floor, forgotten. “Why would you do that?”

“No!” Brothers bellows and the wild rage is back in his eyes more than ever. He steps closer, shaking his gun at me as I step in front of Cam. “That isn't what I said. Why can't you do as I say? You ruined everything!”

“Shut up! We did what you asked!” I yell at him, and turn back to Cam. I can't fix this. It's wrong. The only thing I can think about is that the knife was in
my
hand when it cut him—mine. I can't shake the image. There is so much blood in the jar already. The cut is too deep, much too deep.

“Be logical. It makes the most sense. It could never be you. I'm much bigger so I can lose more blood than you and be okay.” Cam leans against the wall, and when I rush over he presses his forehead against mine. “And he's wrong about you. You
hate
everything about what was done to you. And I knew you'd never cut me.”

The jar is filling so quickly it makes me dizzy. So much blood. How can he lose that much blood? I hold his elbow with one hand. “I think you should sit down.”

“G-good plan.” He slides down the wall until he's in a sitting position. I kneel beside him. Already, his skin is paler. It terrifies me. Brothers is pacing and muttering again, but I don't care. I'm too scared to take my eyes off Cam. What if when I look back, he's gone?

“You need to stay safe, you and Sanda.” Cam's words slur a little and I'm submerged in a sea of dread.

“We will. I'll keep you both safe.” I hesitate, then take a deep breath and intertwine my fingers with those of his uninjured hand. The warmth in them helps clear the haze of panic in my brain. I ignore the sound of Brothers's gun clicking as he continues to pace by the door.

“A girl I knew, she died.” Cam's eyes meet mine, and he appears clear for a moment. I wonder if he's talking about Lily's little sister. “You can't. Promise me you won't.”

“I'm not the one bleeding. It's going to be okay. Just hang on.” His breathing sounds different, more ragged. My brain strives to focus and think of a way out. Every idea is tarnished by blood.

Memories of my brother plague me. His body couldn't recover. He hadn't survived it. Can Cam?

I shudder and focus on hard logic. I can't lose touch with reality right now. The facts comfort me as I remind myself of the differences between them. Cam is healthy and strong. Sam's body was never as strong as Cam's. There is still a chance. “Does it hurt?”

“At first, not anymore.”

Another flash of my past fills my mind, and I know the pain going away isn't a good thing. One time the Father went too far with a knife. There was no pain toward the end, but I also didn't wake up for three days.

I glance over at the jar. It's not quite full but I don't know how much more of this he can take. “That's enough.”

Pulling my left arm into my shirt, I rip the red sleeve above the elbow. Then I take the bottom few inches of Cam's shirt and yank on it until it rips. I use one pad to absorb and stanch the bleeding, the longer piece to hold it tight, slow down the blood, and keep the bandage in place. Not as good as a tourniquet, but it will slow the bleeding and there is less of a chance he will lose his arm.

He winces, but then releases a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you.”

I shake my head, my entire body one huge ball of dread, confusion, and fear. “Do
not
thank me for this.”

First aid saves the day again … I hope.

I turn back to Brothers. “You need to let us out
now
. I have to get him to a hospital.”

“No.” He stops pacing, backs up, and throws his arm out, knocking one of the metal racks against the wall with a
clang
that echoes endlessly around us. His eyes don't focus on me when he turns and yells, “You'll never know. With him you'll never learn.”

I flinch away. Even with the Parents, I'd never seen such madness.

His wild eyes settle on mine and he shakes his head, his voice lowering to a whimper. “You keep disappointing me.”

“Please, he can't—” Finishing the sentence is impossible. I can't say the word out loud. It's silent for too long before Brothers responds, and I want to rip my hair out or hit someone. I can't sit here and watch Cam die. Already the blood is seeping through the bandage. It won't hold for long.

“If you want another chance, you have to earn it. I've tried to help you enough.” Brothers backs toward the door. “Or you can both rot in here. It's your choice.”

“No!” I get to my feet and run toward him as he puts his hand on the knob, but I'm brought up short by the cold metal of his gun pressed against my forehead.

“You have so much potential.” He speaks softly, his mouth not far from my ear. “Don't disappoint me again.”

A hunger rises from a dark place inside me as I rage in silence, kept at bay only by the slender tube of black metal. It's more than a want, more than a need. The only way to satiate it is to bring Brothers pain, to knock his gun out of his hand and squeeze the life out of his throat. Nothing could feel as good right now as the satisfying
thud
of slamming a bat into Brothers's head again and again. I must hurt him the way it hurts me every time I look at Cam. Every hope, every dream he's ever had must be demolished in my wake—exactly like he's doing to me.

“Please, Piper, don't.” Cam's voice welds my feet to the floor. It keeps me from acting, from doing something that would kill me and almost certainly him as well.

Brothers slips out the door and I hear the locks on the other side click into place with the finality of a stone over a tomb.