It ends here, she said in this very place as I held her in my arms. She saw the design before I could recognize it myself.
I start with the locks, inspecting each one. A Houdini lock and three other puzzle locks. I used to solve these as a kid. I could use the bump key I keep in my pocket to open the locks right now—but that’d be breaking the rules. London would suffer.
Nelson wants blood.
I roll my sleeves up and kneel before the tub of keys, noticing an odd glint beneath the surface. Swiping my hand over the top, I push aside a number of keys.
Razorblades.
“Damn. This is going to hurt.”
I fortify myself, and a sort of calm encases me as I sink my hands into the sharp objects. From my peripheral, I see London kicking her feet, seeking the edge of the container. She won’t reach it. She only has five minutes before her toes touch the acid.
Five minutes is more than enough time.
I can assume Nelson wouldn’t put the keys to the locks anywhere near the top of the pile; he wants me digging, razors shredding my skin. I work my hands all the way to the bottom of the tub, gritting my teeth against the acute pain.
I’ve had worse done to me. I’ve done worse—I’ve scarred my flesh deeper than these razors can cut. I dig through the bin without a single wince for Nelson.
I don’t need to try every key here. I know what I’m looking for. I know what the grooves of the teeth will feel like, how they’ll slide into the keyhole and turn easily with that satisfying click. My favorite sound other than London’s soft voice.
This trap was designed for me.
A buzz sounds, then I hear the hiss of the lift. London’s body lowers closer to the acid.
Blood stains the silver key as I pull it free. I inspect it quickly, then lay it on the cement. I dive back in. Fine slashes assault my wrists. Blades carve into my flesh, flaying my skin. But I press on until I find the second, and the third.
Sweat stings my eyes and I’m shaking with adrenaline by the time I unearth the final key.
I rest my forearms on the edge of the tub and take measured breaths. Then I get to my feet, the keys gripped in my bloodied hands.
On the Houdini lock, I twist the beveled screw on the backside loose, then slip in the key and twist. The lock pops open, and I toss it to the floor, the sandbag falls free. “Hang on, London. I’m coming to you.”
The next puzzle lock is just as simple. I realize—while I’m sliding the gold flap on the front sideways to align the inner mechanism—that this isn’t the trap. Nelson knows I can pick a lock—can pick any lock. I’m waiting for the real fun to begin.
The second lock clicks open. The weight releases, and I grab the cable before it can zip across the lift bar. “Grab hold of the beam above you,” I shout to London.
With her wrists freed, she grasps ahold of the lift arm and clings to the steel beam.
I fill my lungs, taking a full breath as I move to the last lock. The key slips out of my hand, slippery from my blood, and I curse. The gears on the lift grind, and I look up to see it drop another few inches.
Her feet hit the acid. London’s pained cry is muffled, but the agony of it slices through my chest more painfully than a million razors.
She pulls her knees toward her waist, keeping away from the acid. But she’s in pain. She’s getting weak.
“Hold on!” The final lock springs open.
I race across the garage and scale a large shipping container to reach the lift. “I’m here.” Seating myself on the edge of the beam, I grab ahold of London’s arms and help her wrap them around my neck. She’s trembling as I bring her to my chest.
I work the wire rope free from around her waist. Then I tell her to keep an arm around me as I guide her across the machine and onto the container. I glance around the shop, seeking Nelson. He remains hidden.
I quickly inspect her feet. Only her toes suffered the acid, but she needs to treat and dress them.
London digs at the tape over her mouth and pries it off, leaving angry red skin behind. “This isn’t the whole trap—”
“I know.” As gently as I can, I ease the masking tape from her eyes. She winces at the sting. She blinks a few times to clear her vision. “Are you okay?”
She nods repeatedly, still shaky with adrenaline and her sweat-slicked, exposed skin. “I’ll be fine, but I need to get you to a doctor.”