“You’re a tough one, birdy. But I’ll make you squeal like a pig. You’ll see,” the Butcher rasped, twirling the cleaver in his hands. Whistling, he bent down and snagged on the laces of my boots. The cold wind breezed through the holes of my socks, but I didn’t keep them for long. I wiggled my legs, hoping to get some slack on the ropes that bound me. Maybe if I managed to grab hold of nippers he threw in my lap, I could cut through the ropes.
A sizzling drew my attention away and I felt the blood drain from my face. The Butcher waved a red hot branding iron in my direction and I felt the heat radiate from the metal. I curled my toes, hoping he wasn’t going to be as cruel as I feared he was. No man could be this evil and if he was, I found myself in the hands of the devil and all was lost.
