The Blood She Stole, His Broken Knees

Cold concrete pressed against my cheek. I tried to lift my arms, but thick nylon rope bit into my wrists, binding them to the metal arms of a heavy chair. A sharp, continuous sting flared in the crook of my left elbow.

I jerked my head up. A single fluorescent bulb flickered above. A clear tube snaked from my vein down to a plastic collection bag hanging on a metal stand. It was already half full of dark red liquid.

My blood.

"Who is there?" I rasped, my throat raw.

Footsteps scraped across the dirt-stained floor. A figure stepped out of the shadows, her tailored trench coat completely out of place in the damp, rotting basement.

Vivian Mercer.

"Glad you are awake," Vivian said, crossing her arms. "Watching you bleed while you sleep is incredibly boring."

"Vivian? What is this? Untie me right now!"

"Not yet. We have a few more pints to go." She tapped the plastic bag with a manicured fingernail. "You have a very rare blood type, Sylvia. O-negative, with that special antibody mutation. A universal donor for a very specific problem."

"You kidnapped me for blood?" I yanked at the bindings. The chair rattled against the floor, but the ropes held firm.

"I merely redirected your evening commute." She smirked. "That little fender bender on 4th Street? You always stop to help people. Your empathy is a massive liability."

"The guy by the van..." I squinted, the memory of a masked man holding a rag over my face rushing back. "You are insane. You are going to kill me!"

"Oh, stop being dramatic. You will survive. Probably." Vivian pulled a wooden stool over and sat down, crossing her legs. "Julian is dying, Sylvia. He was in a massive car wreck three hours ago."

Julian Thorne. The heir to the city's largest real estate empire, and the man Vivian had been obsessed with for years.

"Call the hospital," I said, dizzy as black spots danced in my vision. "They have blood banks."

"Not for his specific needs. The doctors are panicking. They put out a private call to anyone with a match." Vivian leaned forward, a twisted smile forming on her lips. "If I supply the blood, I save his life. The entire Thorne family will owe me."

"It is my blood!" I yelled, though my voice cracked under the strain. "They will test it. They will know!"

"How?" She laughed, a sharp, grating sound that bounced off the concrete walls. "I already bribed his private physician. I walk in with the cooler, roll up my sleeve, slap a bandage on my arm, and play the hero."

"You are stealing my blood to fake saving his life?"

"I am securing my future," she corrected, her tone hardening. "When Julian wakes up, he will ask who saved him. I will be sitting right by his bed. He will marry me by spring."

I stared at her. The sheer audacity left me speechless. A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. The bag on the stand was nearly full. A man in dark scrubs stepped out of the dark corner to swap it for an empty one.

"Stop him," I whispered, my head lolling against the back of the chair. "That is too much. I feel sick."

"Keep draining," Vivian ordered the man. "We need at least three bags to make sure Julian stabilizes."

"Three bags?" Panic spiked through my chest, chasing away the numbness for a split second. "The human body only holds ten pints! You take three bags, I will go into hypovolemic shock!"

"Then you better hope your bone marrow works overtime." She checked her diamond-studded watch. "I have a tight schedule."

"I have money," I offered, my voice trembling as the man hooked up the second bag. "Whatever you want, I will give it to you. Do not do this."

Vivian scoffed, shaking her head. "You? Julian's family owns half the state. You live in a two-bedroom apartment. Do not insult my intelligence."

"They will do a DNA test," I argued, desperate to find a flaw in her plan. "Blood carries DNA."

"Only white blood cells carry DNA, you idiot. Red blood cells do not. And the doctor is filtering it. I told you, I covered every angle."

"Vivian, please," I begged. The fight drained out of me along with my blood. The freezing air seemed to seep directly into my bones. "I will not tell anyone. Just let me go."

"You always were pathetic, Sylvia." She stood up and paced in front of me. "Always playing the perfect employee at the firm. Always getting the promotions. But out here? In the real world? You are nothing but a resource."

"You will never get away with this," I muttered. My lips felt like rubber.

"I already have."

The man in scrubs tapped the second bag. It was swelling rapidly with red. He adjusted the flow valve, increasing the speed.

Pain shot up my arm, a deep, pulling ache. "Ah! Stop!"

"Quiet," Vivian snapped. "You are giving me a headache."

"My fingers are tingling," I murmured. "Please. The numbness is spreading up my arms."

"That is just the drop in blood pressure. Your body will adjust."

"It will shut down. My organs will fail."

"Then I suggest you breathe slowly and conserve your energy."

"I am going to pass out," I slurred. The dim light above us fractured into a dozen glowing halos.

"Good. It will keep you from whining."

I tried to kick my legs. They felt like lead blocks. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, struggling to pump fluid that was no longer there. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

"Why do you hate me so much?" I asked, the words barely louder than a breath.

Vivian stopped pacing. She crouched down until we were eye level. "Because you exist. Because Julian looked at you twice at the charity gala last month. Do you think I missed that?"

"I did not even speak to him."

"It does not matter!" she shouted, her composure finally snapping. "He noticed you. He never notices me. But after tonight, I will be the only woman he ever sees."

She reached out and flicked the plastic tube. I flinched, biting my tongue to keep from crying out.

"Almost done," the man grunted, his voice muffled by his surgical mask.

"Cap it off after this one," Vivian instructed, standing back up and smoothing her coat. "We do not want a corpse on our hands. Disposing of a body is entirely too expensive."

"You are a monster," I whispered.

"I am a survivor." She pulled a silver compact mirror from her purse, checked her red lipstick, and snapped it shut. "Wrap her up. Leave her here until tomorrow night. By then, Julian will be out of surgery, and the narrative will be set in stone."

The man pulled the thick needle from my vein. I lacked the energy to even groan. He slapped a piece of gauze over the puncture wound and taped it roughly, his fingers pressing painfully into my bruised skin.

"Vivian..." I tried to keep my eyes open. The shadows in the basement corners crept closer, swallowing the remaining light.

She grabbed a red medical cooler from the floor, placing the warm blood bags carefully inside. "Sweet dreams, Sylvia. I will be sure to invite you to the wedding."

Her shoes scraped against the concrete stairs as she walked away. The heavy metal door slammed shut, echoing like a gunshot in the empty