“Do it. Now…”
Cold sweat beads on his forehead. Her eyes are keen as anguish, sharp as the steel against his throat. How had he not realised? How had it come to this? He had tried everything. He had even begged. The thought made him squirm, but he no longer cared. He had nothing left.
The bright edge of the razor would strike.
No way to escape.
His hands shake. He must. He cannot. Bile rises as he closes his eyes… all he can see is blood and ruin.
“Now, Dave … Either the beard goes, or I do…”
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With Stuart FranceThe Triad of Albion
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By Sue Vincent
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