Page 5 of Bronx

“Do you promise?”

His question takes me by surprise.

“Do I promise?”

“To live a banker’s life.”

Step six, dummy!

“Yeah, I promise.”

I hold my breath as the sociopath surprisingly slides the blade between my wrists and breaks the plastic ties with one single slice and suddenly I’m free.

“Thank you!” I say to him as I finally stand on wobbly legs.

“Remember what you said,” he says again. “And remember what I did for you.”

Whatever, jackass, I think to myself.

“I will.”

Suddenly, the front door flies open and guy number one is standing in the doorway with his hands full of takeout food. When his eyes quickly shift between the two of us, the bags fall to the ground with a thud.

“Dobitoc!” He exclaims a word which I can only assume is an expletive in his native tongue.

Then he pulls a large hunting knife from a belt behind his back and holds the razor sharp tip at the base of my throat. It looks almost identical to the one the other guy has.

“Sit back down, little Masterson.”

“Fuck you,” I spit and then I lunge toward him. If I’m going to go out, I might as well go out fighting.

Because I’m without a weapon, I’m at a disadvantage, and in the melee one of my captors uses a knife to slice my neck from east to west. I quickly grab my throat as the searing pain leaves me breathless.

I’m bent over in excruciating pain as I notice a continued scuffle between the two men.

“Get out, college boy!” the watch dog suddenly yells with a blood-stained knife in his right hand.

That’s my blood.

I’m confused as to why the dead-eyed man would try to kill me, then offer me a chance to escape, but I don’t have the luxury to understand the motivations of a scumbag–so I run.

I’m under the complete darkness of nightfall when I exit the cabin on foot, blood oozing between my fingers from the gash in my throat, but I follow the driveway toward a main road and then walk along it for what seems like miles, hiding myself along the tree line. I don’t know how things ended at the cabin or if either one of those assholes is coming after me, so I don’t trust flagging anyone down for help. There aren’t many cars out here, anyway.

I continue to walk until I can’t take another step. My raw wrists and neck are bleeding. I’m cold, tired, and have resolved myself with the fact that I’m okay dying under the cover of a large oak tree. There are worse ways to die.

I take off the t-shirt underneath my hoodie and try using it as a last ditch effort to stop the blood oozing from my neck. I think about my family as I sit my tired ass down on a bed of fallen leaves against the rough bark of the tree. It hurts like hell to swallow, so I figure I’ll close my eyes for a moment and hope that helps with the pain.

Surprisingly, I live through the night, but this time when someone awakens me in the wee early hours of the morning, it’s with watery, deep-set eyes that look exactly like mine.

“Seven… you found me,” I croak out in relief.

“Don’t I always, brother?”

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