I come to tied roughly to a chair with raggedy ropes. I sigh through a nasty tasting gag. Not again.

I jiggle my hands and feet around in the ropes to see how much leeway I have. Not much, of course. A shadowy figure makes its way into the fairly dim room.

“Anastasia,” he rasps.

I allow my eyes to go wide and my lower lips to tremble in fear. As he stalks closer I shrink away from him, further into the uncomfortable wooden chair. He twitches and I notice a knife in his hand. Great.

“I believe you know something that I should be aware of,” he says.

“I don’t, I swear! You’ve got the wrong girl!” I plead with him, inflecting stress and anxiety into my tone.

He chuckles ominously.

“I don’t make mistakes, Anastasia. You’re who I need.”

I tilt my head down and flick my gaze up to him through my long lashes, trying to look young and innocent.

“Please, sir. They don’t tell me anything. I don’t know!” I cry.

And by some miracle, I manage to force two fat tears from my eyes. They roll down my cheeks and I hear him sigh.

“I hate it when girls cry,” he growls.

I sob again.

“Stop that!” he yells, backhanding me across the face.

My face snaps to the left (harder than it needs to) and I make a gasp of surprise. Then, I let out a very uncharacteristic whimper.

“Please don’t hurt me, sir. I know nothing,” I whisper.

He punches me in the face and my head snaps back. Okay, I’ve had enough of this moron.

With one newly untied hand, I punch him hard in the gut. With the other, I grab his wrist in and iron grip and twist until he releases the knife. Then, with practiced finess, I hold the knife tip to his jugular. I grin in the faint light.

“Why don’t you tell me what you know? Huh?” I taunt him.

He takes a breath and I see his muscles tense to lunge forwards. I brandish the knife tip closer so it’s just brushing against his jugular.

“I don’t appreciate that.” I say in a clipped, quiet voice.

He scoffs. I press the knife further, piercing only the first layer of skin and drawing very little blood.

“I won’t tell you anything, little girl,” he snarls.

I roll my eyes. I hate when people call me little.

“Well now two things. One, you hurt me,” I say with an exaggerated pout. “Two, you’re pissing me off.”

In one smooth motion, I slit his throat straight across. He makes an odd gasping gurgling sound and falls to the floor. I kick him once in the temple for good measure, then jog out of the room to leave my captor to bleed out unconscious on the floor.