The corners of Gretchen’s mouth twitched up in a smile. Then she raised a hand and slapped Archie hard across the face. He felt a dizzying slash of pain and the impact turned his head to the wall. His face stung. His head buzzed. His eyes teared. But a burst of endorphins cut through the fog in his brain like a knife. The heat on his cheek where she’d made contact burned. He took a few long breaths, his head still turned toward the wall, feeling lighter with each inhalation, as if he had been given more access to oxygen somehow. He was seeing things more lucidly, more surely. He was still alive. He turned back to face Gretchen. Her eyes were spirited. Her nostrils flared with anticipation. She liked to cause people pain. Now she looked at him, her eyes inviting him to hit her back. Archie’s hand itched to do it, too. He could break her nose if he wanted to. He could shatter that exquisite bone structure, leaving her swollen and deformed, bleeding into her mouth. No one would blame him. He let that desire live in him for a moment, using it to nourish his strength. He summoned every bit of energy and nerve he had, and then, cheek still hot from her touch, he propelled himself off the wall. He staggered past her without looking back, raised his weapon, and pushed open the door.

Chapter 43

CHAPTER

43

Susan’s dislocated shoulder pulsed with pain. Her wrist ached from Karim’s viselike grip. Every time he yanked her arm, jamming bone into the nerve tissue around her hollow shoulder socket, she gulped back a gasp of agony.

Karim kept one hand on her and one around the knife. She’d thought he’d have to put that knife down at some point, but he never did. The knife was like an extension of his hand. He pulled another drawer out of a desk, rifled through it, and tossed it against the wall. The wood split against the concrete and the drawer’s contents bounced onto the floor—papers, a plastic calculator, thumbtacks, pens, an orange rubber Super Ball that bounced joyfully across the room before rolling under a copy machine. Susan flinched and Karim twisted her wrist to bring her to him. The pain made her knees buckle and hot tears well in her eyes. He pulled her close and brought the knife to her face. His breath was sour. His face smelled like pungent aftershave. She didn’t want to look at him, so instead she kept her eyes fixed on the knife. She could see a sliver of her reflection in the blade, a wet, red eye.

“Are you scared?” Karim asked. His British accent made the inquiry sound almost genteel.