It was a charity fundraiser. Every Vacation Club member who donates one hundred thousand dollars to the cause gets to throw three knives at a Resort companion. The Resort offered up ten different volunteer companions, on their days off, as targets for each night of the fundraiser to assure things remained interesting.

I entered the chamber, dressed in a revealing costume, one similar to those Iíd worn during my previous life as a magicianís assistant, one that left very little to the imagination. Tonight was the fundraiserís final night, and I was tonightís second target, and judging by the large pool of blood beneath the target stand, things had ended badly for the volunteer companion whoíd proceeded me.

Two Resort staff members quickly secured me spread-eagle across the giant red and white painted bullseye as I helplessly watched the first contestant picking up a knife. I felt my heart racing as he stepped up to the throwing line, the razor-sharp blade of his knife gleaming in the chamberís overhead lights. Incredibly all three of his knives missed, his last hitting the target just inches from my face.

The second contestant, a stunningly beautiful redhead in an expensive designer evening gown, stepped up to the throwing line. She missed as well, her first throw coming the closest, hitting the target just a few inches below the crotch of my costume.

The third contestant, a distinguished-looking gentleman, the redheadís companion, was next, his final throw, hitting just to the side of my costumeís corset compressed waist.

As I watched the fourth contestant approach the throwing line, I thought, three contestants, nine blades, and they hadnít hit me, not even once, and unlike the magicians Iíd work with in the past, these people were knife throwing amateurs who werenít even trying to miss.

Pausing to look at me, he motioned to one of the staff, ďI have a reservation at the Resortís North Tower for tomorrow evening. I want the pleasure of Annís company once she completes regeneration. Preferably waiting for me chained to the torture chamberís wall, wearing a black corset, stockings, and high heels.Ē

Smiling at the look of surprise on my face, he threw his first knife, the razor-sharp blade slicing into my chest directly within the costume enhanced cleavage of my breasts. The hot taste of blood filling my mouth as I helplessly watched him picking up his second knife.

His next throw pierced my right breast, cleaving my nipple in half as it slammed deep into my chest. A flood of blood filled my mouth and ran down my chin. It was getting harder to breathe. Blood was filling my throat faster than I could cough it up, and he was picking up his third and final knife.

His final knife unsurprisingly struck my left breast, once again slicing through my nipple as it stabbed deep into my chest. Unable to breathe, I hung there for almost a minute staring at him as I bled to death, all the while wondering how my killer could have known my name. But regardless, tomorrow night in the North Tower with him promised to be painfully torturous as well as delightfully entertaining...