Perfect Victim

Lisa sat, bound and gagged, the body of her fiance lying next to her. Tears dried on her cheeks, and her breath hitched. Ten or so feet away, her captor argued with the man she thought was here to rescue her over who got to kill her. While they fought, she felt something cuffing on the ropes binding her wrists together behind her back, and craned her neck to see another man behind her. He held a finger to his lips, and proceeded to untie her ankles. He helped her up and led her quietly from the room.

“You going to sacrifice me, too?” She sounded only a little frantic, but mostly angry.

“No, of course not.” The man bowed and held out a very ornate short sword. “They’re idiots. You’re not the perfect sacrifice. You’re the perfect one to perform it. They’re still distracted in there.”

She frowned, picking up the sword, and turning it over in her hand to look at the blade.

“I die gladly by your hand.” The man sank to his knees in front of her.
She turned back toward the room she’d been held in, glanced out the window at the setting sun, and walked at him, sword at the ready. He opened his hoodie, exposing his chest, and let his head fall back, baring his throat. She reached behind him and grabbed a handful of his hair, drawing the sword hard across his throat. Blood spurted, he fell forward gurgling, and in the room she’d been held, the men started to scream.

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