Meathook roared as blood spurted from his forearm. She hoped he’d drop her- not great, but enough time to recover a little.
Instead, he threw her.
Elise sailed through the air for an endless, breathless moment. There was time to wonder if she’d stop, if she’d learned to fly- and then her head hit the caravan with a thick, awful crack. Her neck seemed to fold inwards, her stomach lurched with sudden nausea.
Then, darkness. Nothingness.
Her eyes opened. Meathook towered over her, her own knife in his hand.
“Like to play, little girl?” he growled.
Then he started cutting.