146 Frade Is Dead

“No.” I struggled, and the rope made the skin of my wrists bleed. Daley wouldn't let go no matter how hard I tried.

He grabbed the waitress by the hair and held her head back, the woman's pale neck protruding forward. With his other hand, a knife is held to the front of the woman's neck. He stood behind her and looked at me.

“She's innocent. Don't hurt her,” I shouted at him.

“All men are sinners,” he said, with a solemn air characteristic of a bishop, “But God forgives penitents.”

“This woman will die because of you.” The sharp blade only lightly touched the woman's neck, and a tiny bead of blood immediately oozed from her skin.

This poor woman was still in a coma. Daley moved the knife away from her, leaving a shallow, thread-like cut across her fair neck.

He's not trying to kill this woman, just testing me. He wanted me to give in, to beg, to bow down to him.

He is well aware of my weakness.

“No, please,” I begged.