Rita massaged her hands with the back of her blade, coaxing herself internally. “It’s only a little-bitty flick of the wrist.” And it was. Pinned by her knees to the floor, Sanders struggled for air.
“Grawp,” he choked. Trapped asunder, he could fight death no longer.
She took the plunge, aimed the plunge, and missed plunging his carotid by centimeters. A long, miserable death would follow. She pushed herself off him and looked back at her work.
This one was published a while back, but was swallowed up by other posts. Some of you have read the others in the series, which I will link to below.