Wishing he had paid more attention to his scout master, Eric awkwardly but forcefully tied the knots as tightly as he could manage and hoped they would hold. The rough rope he had found lying about bit into the less callussed parts of his hands as he worked. He didn’t even care if it restricted the circulation in the dealer’s hands and feet, pants around her ankles, dick dangling above the rust-stained toilet bowl. He just wanted to make sure she didn’t escape before the authorities arrived. And he was too angry about Angela and about the loss of his finger tip to concern himself with the well-being of this human garbage.
Finally satisfied that she was safely secured to the heavy porcelain commode, he grabbed the still-slimy finger tip, shoved it in his pocket, for lack of a better solution, and went in search of his girl.