The noise startles The Skinner. A piece of heavy metal being dropped onto a hard surface. The Skinner pulls the flaying blade away from my scalp, takes a tentative step back. And then another.
“It seems we have a visitor, kitten,” he mumbles through his mouth injury. “You sit tight and wait right here for me.”
Is the asshole trying to be funny?
You sit tight and wait right here for me . . .
Like I’m not locked in this contraption. Like I have a choice. I’m an animal awaiting the s*******r that is sure to come. But that doesn’t mean I’ve given up hope. My son needs me. Both kids need me.
When The Skinner disappears beyond the opposite end of the tunnel, I once more put up a struggle to free myself from the portable s*******r cage. Out the corner of my eye, I can see the latch that
