50
“Sit there,” Danny said, pointing to a chair by the dark wood kitchen table. “And if you move, I promise I’ll f*****g kill you.”
Iris’s left eye was nearly swollen shut, and her face had the unhealthy hue of uncooked sausage, the homemade kind in links. She asked, “Aren’t you going to do that anyway?”
Danny sighed and leaned against the table. It was heavy, sturdy. “It is looking that way,” he admitted. “But you and I both know, another minute alive is another chance to live.”
He removed the cuff from her right hand and attached it to one of the table’s legs, above a decorative support that ran from the leg to the tabletop, forming an equilateral triangle. Even if Iris flipped the table over, she’d have to break off that support before she could slide her cuff down the table leg to
