Switch Blade Romance

Run Boy Run

“You want me to do what?”
Andrew Grant’s scream bounced off the basement walls, thin and brittle, like glass about to shatter.
“You heard me,” Charles Grady said calmly. Too calmly. He stood beneath Micha, who dangled in his harness from the ceiling, wrists bound, feet barely brushing the air. “Pick up the knife. Slash his throat. Or stab him in the stomach. Chest works too. I’m not picky.”
Andrew stared at the knife on the worktable as if it were alive. Breathing. Waiting.
“I—I can’t,” Andrew stammered. “I can’t kill him. Please, Charles. Don’t do this. Don’t make me a killer.” His voice cracked, tears spilling freely now.
Charles sighed, long and theatrical, like a disappointed teacher. “You stupid, weak little bitch. I’m doing this for you. To help you.” He smiled. “I want you to be like me. Then we can really be together.”
Andrew shook his head, shrinking back until the cold concrete kissed his spine.
“You won’t have to worry about people like Philipe anymore,” Charles went on. “Or Rachel. Or your aunt Paula. Hell—” He chuckled. “—not even me.”
Charles leaned closer. “Predators like us? We can smell weakness. From a mile away. It’s like a drug. We find you, push our way in a little at a time, and once we’re inside…” He snapped his fingers. “You’re ours.”
“No,” Andrew whispered. “That’s not true. I’m not weak. You just— you brainwashed me. You’re a sociopath.”
Charles laughed. “Aw. Look at you. Crying already?”
Andrew sobbed openly now.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Charles said softly. “Otherwise I’d kill you myself.”
Micha coughed, the sound wet and painful. “Don’t listen to him, Andrew,” he said hoarsely. “He’s sick. You’re better than this. You’ll get out.”
Charles looked up at him. “You’ve got a lot to say for someone about to be demon food.”
Micha spat, hitting Charles square in the face. “I’ll see you in hell.”
Charles wiped his forehead. His face flushed crimson, rage snapping through him like a live wire. He lunged for Andrew, yanking him up by the arm.
“Get up. Do it. Now.”
“No!” Andrew screamed. “I won’t!”
Charles dragged him toward Micha. Andrew’s stomach twisted. If I’d met Micha first, he thought. If only—
“I’m sorry,” Andrew sobbed. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
Micha met his eyes and nodded. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Charles shoved the knife into Andrew’s hand.
“No—please—”
Charles forced Andrew’s arm upward.
The blade slid into Micha’s throat.
Blood exploded outward, hot and shocking, splattering Andrew’s face and chest. Micha made a terrible gurgling sound, his body convulsing.
Andrew screamed and yanked the knife free. More blood poured out.
“That’s it,” Charles whispered into Andrew’s ear. “Good. Very good.”
Andrew spun, screaming, and slashed wildly. The blade cut Charles’s arm.
“What the fuck!” Charles howled.
Andrew kicked him hard in the stomach. Charles crumpled.
Andrew ran.
Up the basement stairs. The door. Light. Freedom.
Behind him, Charles scrambled, roaring.
Andrew slammed the basement door shut and bolted through the kitchen. The back door stood ahead like a miracle.
Charles pounded from below. “OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR, ANDREW!”
Andrew burst onto the porch, into the cold night. He didn’t slow. He ran across the lawn, around the house, straight for the blue Honda Accord in the driveway.
The door opened. He jumped inside.
No keys.
“No—no—!” He tore down the visor. Nothing.
A crash echoed from the house.
Andrew ran.
Into the woods. Pitch black except for thin moonlight. Branches clawed at his face and arms. Blood streaked down his skin, but he didn’t stop.
Somewhere behind him, Charles called out, his voice cheerful and cruel.
“You really shouldn’t be running around out here, Andrew. Woods at night are dangerous. Just ask my last boyfriend, Matthew.”
Andrew kept running.
At last, the trees thinned. A dirt road.
He staggered to the edge, breath tearing from his chest. I made it, he thought. Thank God.
Headlights appeared.
Hope surged.
Andrew ran toward the road—
—and was tackled.
Pain exploded in his chin. His mouth filled with blood as Charles dragged him into the ditch.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Charles whispered. “Playing in the woods gets you hurt.”
“No!” Andrew screamed as he was pulled back into the trees.
The car passed by, headlights fading into the night, never knowing how close it had come.