TW: gun violence, general violence

Freya felt the floor slam into her face for the second time that day. Despite the repetition, she didn't find that the pain lessened in any way. The crash that her collision with the floor made was a loud one. If Freya was lucky, she probably had two minutes before anyone came to investigate—if anyone was even there to hear it anyway. If she was exceptionally lucky—which she didn't think she was—no one would be stationed near the room and no one would have heard the sound of the chair falling. Freya seriously doubted that level of good fortune however, so she worked quickly.

Prior to her fall, Freya had brought her arms around to the front of the chair so that they were no longer behind her back, preventing them from becoming trapped between chair and the floor. That decision was now paying dividends. Having her hands free meant that she was prepared for the next step, but first she had to get the rope off her ankles.

Now that she was on her side the rope was no longer being drawn towards the ground by its own weight and flopped uselessly to the side. Freya carefully tucked her ankles under the chair as far as she could until the rope slid off the tops of her pointed feet. With the connection now severed, Freya used her hands to slip the rope up and over the head, leaving her completely free from her bonds.

Freya tried to rise to her feet, only for her knees to give out and drop her to the floor. She tried one more time, and found that—while shaky—they were now willing to take her weight. She turned and looked down at the chair which had held her prisoner for the last few hours. She gave it a kick for good measure before she picked it up, holding it by the top of the chairback. Then, with as much strength as she could muster, Freya threw the chair at the wall and smiled brightly as it emitted a great cracking sound and splintered.

Walking over to the wreckage, Freya saw that one of the rear legs was now coming loose. Freya picked up the chair and threw it against the wall again until the back legs broke off the chair completely. It would be rudimentary, but it would serve her well enough as a weapon. Clenching the splintered leg in her right hand, Freya strode towards the door. She held her ear up against it, listening for the sound of any approaching footsteps. She didn't hear anything, she tried the doorknob and inexplicably found it to be unlocked. She held the chair leg behind her and gently turned the doorknob.

As she pushed the door open, she found it to be wrenched roughly from her grasp as someone—or something—pulled it open abruptly. Freya stumbled forward, though quickly regaining her balance and looked to see what had wrenched open the door. Corvus' smug smile greeted her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. That look caused Freya to stop, puzzled.

"I must say," Corvus said, glancing down at his watch. "I expected more from you. Half of an hour, sure. An hour, perhaps pushing it. But two full hours! Frankly I'm disappointed."

Freya's mind fought to put together all the pieces. It would seem that he wanted her to escape his bindings. In fact, Corvus had been...timing her. But why? For his own entertainment?

Corvus seemed to read her confused expression. "Did you really think that you were the first person to escape that hold?" he shook his head. "I mean, I knew that you were naive, but this? I'm floored. Genuinely."

Corvus took a step forward, causing Freya to involuntarily step back. She moved to raise her hands in surrender, but stopped as she was reminded of the chair leg in her right hand. A plan began to form in her mind. A stupid plan. An insane plan. One that would likely result in her death as well, but might just take Corvus off the board for good.

As Corvus stepped forward again, Freya surged up to meet him, driving the chair leg directly into his abdomen. Seemingly taken by surprise, Corvus did not block the blow and was instead impaled by the splintered end of the leg. Corvus seemed to crumple around the wound as Freya wrenched the leg back out of his abdomen.

The chair leg came back in glistening red and missing several of its larger splinters. Freya's stomach lurched at the sight and she nearly vomited right then and there. It was only the sound of Corvus' maniacal laughing that kept the nausea at bay. Startled, Freya watched as Corvus—with one hand pressed to his abdomen—pulled out his butterfly knife with his right.

"Is that how we're going to play it then?" he barked out a laugh and took a step toward her.

Freya expected to see even a small hint of pain in his eyes, but instead, all she saw was madness. The sight caused fear to rise in her stomach. Her eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for any possible exit. While Corvus wasn't the one to train her in hand-to-hand combat, in order to be cleared for work, a potential thief was required to spar with him. The twist? Corvus would hold the very knife that he held now while the challenger was empty-handed. Freya had only once passed the test successfully. That was on her seventh attempt.

"Not so brave are we, eh?" Corvus sneered. "You're still the timid little cub that you were the day you came crawling to my doorstep weeping about your bitch of a mother."

If Corvus' goal was to provoke Freya into acting foolishly, he was succeeding tremendously. Freya balled her left hand into a fist and gripped the chair leg harder trying her best to keep her anger in check. Her adrenaline was pumping but the ache in her left hand was returning, as was the bullet hole in her shoulder.

Having learned from her sparring with Corvus, she waited for him to make the first move. That was the only reason she had managed to beat him the last time, and Corvus knew this. This is why the two criminals found themselves locked in an uneasy stalemate, waiting for the other to move first. Eventually, Corvus' impatience got the better of him, causing him to lunge forward with his unarmed fist.

Freya easily blocked the blow with her left, sweeping Corvus' away with the chair leg, opening up his guard. From there, she delivered a quick punch to his nose with her left, feeling it crunch beneath her knuckles as warm blood spurted from his face. Startled, Corvus' head flew backwards and the remainder of his guard slipped. Freya struck out with her right leg, sweeping Corvus' legs out from under him and watched gleefully as he crashed to the floor.

He groaned as the air rushed out of his lungs in an instant, leaving him gasping for air. As she bent down to swing the chair leg into his head, Corvus surprised her, lashing out with his left hand and grabbing her by her shirt collar. He pulled her towards the ground roughly and drove his butterfly knife into her right forearm until the blade was stopped by the bone.

Freya let out a blood-curdling scream and released her chair leg in surprise. Corvus—his hand still on the knife—twisted the weapon, releasing another scream. Freya didn't even feel herself screaming but certainly heard it. It was as though it was being pulled out of her soul.

Then—as if the pain couldn't get any worse—Corvus wrenched the knife from her arm, allowing the blood to flow freely. Quickly thereafter, Corvus pulled Freya's collar roughly, making her stumble to her knees, and got to his feet. From there, he finished the job by pushing her to the floor. Freya didn't even have the strength in her to make a sound.

"This is what happens to those who betray me," Corvus growled as he walked towards the door. "No one ever betrays me and lives. Enjoy your next few minutes. They'll likely be your last."

Dun dun dun!! 

Haha. My cliffhangers are great, aren't they?

Hopefully this chapter wasn't too heavy for you guys, but I know that it was a huge difference when compared to the rest of the book, so I wanted to be safe with the trigger warning at the start. 

Some questions for you:

- How will Freya escape?

- Will Corvus get caught?

- What did Corvus do to her hand?

- What will happen next?

Very short and snappy questions this time around. Frankly, I know that no one is reading this anymore so I've sort of given up on making them intricate. I'm sure my lengthy writing break is to blame. 

Until next, 

~Alley