His eyes widen. He actually looks like he never put that together. It would almost be sad if it wasn’t so pathetic. These men have been part of a trafficking empire for years and still haven’t learned to assess a room.
And they wonder why their entire operation is crumbling like wet ash in my hands.
Instead of closing the distance, I take three slow steps backward. Each heel scuff echoes off the walls. I raise my voice again, letting it crack. “Please! Don’t hurt me! Please, I’ll do anything!”
His brows pull tight, confusion creeping in again. He’s so busy trying to understand my behavior that he forgets to watch the weapon in my hand.
Typical.
I stop moving.
And throw.
The blade slices through the stale air with a whisper before sinking deep into his chest, right above the sternum. The shock on his face would almost be comical if it weren’t so predictable.
Really? He’s still surprised?
No wonder Bryce’s empire has been so easy to burn to the ground. This is what he staffed his operation with. Men who can’t read a room, can’t anticipate a strike, can’t grasp that the girl they tied up might be the one thing they should fear.
He drops to his knees, fingers clawing weakly at the hilt as blood spills warm and dark across his shirt. His breath wheezes, a wet rattle fighting its way out of his lungs.
I walk toward him slowly, purposefully.
I left him for last so I could savor the moment. Not because he was the biggest threat.
Obviously.
He wobbles as I walk toward him, so weak he can barely keep his head lifted. I crouch until we’re eye to eye, my shadow swallowing his trembling form. “You know…” I let the words drip out slowly, almost playfully. “I’m pretty good with knives.” A soft laugh slips from me, unhinged and bright. “I’m sure you figured that out already. But what you don’t know is that I’m very precise. I know exactly where to cut to keep you alive just long enough for us to… have some fun.”
His eyes widen as I wrap my fingers around the hilt buried in his chest. I rip the blade free at the exact moment he gasps, and I scream over his cry, masking it with my own. The echoes blend into something grotesquely convincing. If anyone is listening, they’ll think he’s the one hurting me.
I tilt my head, tapping the bloody blade against my cheek, streaking red across my already bloody skin as if applying another layer of war-paint. “You grabbed Kimber with yourfilthy hand,” I say softly. “And then you licked her like she was meant for you.”
His breath hitching is the best music I’ve heard all morning.
“I think,” I continue, feigning to ponder, “I’ll take your tongue first. Then I won’t have to hear your pathetic whining.”
“No,” he stutters, voice breaking. “Please. Don’t.”
A genuine laugh bursts free, warm and delighted. “Come on. That’s my line, remember?”
I grab the bottom of his shirt and use the fabric as leverage, gripping his tongue and pulling it forward. His hands flail weakly at my arms, but he’s hemorrhaging too much blood to put any actual strength into it. He hits like a newborn deer, soft and clumsy.
“Oh, please,” I chide, rolling my eyes. “You don’t actually think I’m going to touch you, do you? I have standards.”
I tighten my hold, and before he can attempt to pull away, I scream—loud, panicked—just as my blade slices through the thick muscle in one clean motion. His shriek is swallowed by mine. Blood floods his mouth, his chin, my forearm, dripping onto the filthy floor in heavy red droplets.
I force his head up by the hair and smear his severed tongue across his own face. “How’s that taste?” I ask sweetly. “Hmm?”
He gurgles, sputtering, face twisted in disgust.
“Oh, don’t act like it’s gross.” I slap his cheek lightly with the slack muscle. “It’s your own tongue. Imagine how Kimber felt. And…” I lower my voice. “I’m guessing she wasn’t your first.”
The look he gives me is all the confession I’ll ever need.
“Good thing for you,” I sigh dramatically, “I told my guys I’d stop touching my prey’s dicks to make hot-dog octopuses.” Ipout. “But technically… if I pin it down with another knife first and avoid touching it, I’m not breaking my promise.”
I hum, thinking, letting him watch the gears turn behind my eyes. His terror thickens the air, sharp and metallic, mixing with the smell of blood.