The straight razor kissed my throat and hovered there, level in spite of his trembling hands. He was excited, aroused.
“Wait! You’re making a mistake! I can help you!”
Every breath echoed in his mask. He kept the razor below my chin, but eased the pressure. Blood streamed.
“Help me? How?”
My heart banged against my ribs.
“This is a big operation for one guy, and I need a job! I can clean the torture rooms, help you dispose of the bodies.”
“Do you have a solid work history?”
“That’s too bad. Sorry.”