His skin was cold and slippery with sweat.

I twisted his wrist outward, pressing my thumb into the soft tendon near his palm.

His fingers opened, and the small silver blade fell onto the plush carpet.

I kicked it under the heavy dresser, out of reach.

Lorenzo shifted his weight, throwing his entire bulk against Evan.

The wind left Evan’s lungs in a loud, rattling wheeze.

His knees buckled, and he slid down the front of the wardrobe to the floor.

Lorenzo kept one heavy knee pinned against Evan’s chest.

He pulled a pair of heavy zip-ties from his back pocket.

With quick, practiced movements, he bound Evan’s wrists behind his back.

“Keep quiet,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice dangerously low.

Evan lay on his side, his face pressed against the carpet, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to,” Evan muttered into the rug.

“He made me do it.”

Lorenzo did not look at him.

He stood up, his chest heaving under his damp linen shirt.

He wiped a smear of Evan’s blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.