in the line of fire? No, not Adams, but that doesn’t mean his contact wouldn’t. Perry’s up to his neck, caught between me and . . . who? I don’t know, but he’s a brave fucker. And a light reminder to Perry that I’m the greater of two evils won’t be missed. “Send Adams her little finger.”
Watson, the sadistic bastard, has his knife out before I’ve even registered my own words, and I momentarily frown, wondering what the fuck he’s doing. “You sure about that, boss?” Brad must have caught my confusion, his probing eyes watching me across the table.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I stand and approach Watson, taking the knife from him. “But I get the honor.” I leave the office, feeling Brad’s worried stare rooted to my back, and pace through my mansion, spinning the blade in my grasp as I go. What better way to prove to anyone, including myself, that she means nothing to me?
My breathing is labored as I pause outside her door, my hand on the knob. My palm’s sweaty. My heart is thumping. My fucking head could explode. Just do it. If anything, it’ll truly make her hate me. It’ll halt these insane moments of rhapsody that are quickly followed by reality. It’ll show her that she’s here for one reason alone. I push my way into her room, determined, the knife poised . . . and freeze when I find her sitting on the edge of the bed in her underwear, a razor blade plunged into her forearm.
My head that was feeling like it could explode, goes right on ahead and detonates. I see red. Rage sails through my body like fucking wildfire, unstoppable and damaging. Like nothing I’ve felt before.
She finds me vibrating by the door and quickly gets up, running to the bathroom. I’m in pursuit quickly, flying after her. She goes to slam the door in my face, but it hits my foot and bounces back open. Fucking hell, I feel out of control. She walks cautiously back, a fear in her eyes that I’ve not seen before. And I’m not surprised, because I must look beyond my usual murderous self.
Her hands go behind her back, resting on the vanity unit. “Don’t you know how to knock?” she murmurs, her pathetic question doing nothing but turning my already burning blood into rivers of lava in my veins.
I can’t even speak. All of my focus is centered on helping me to breathe through my fury. The drops of blood hitting the tile floor are deafening. I stalk forward, my whole face aching with the tenseness of my tight jaw. She can’t even look me in the eye. Her head’s dropped, focusing on anything except the psycho slowly closing in on her.
When I make it to her, I push my front to hers, if only so she can feel how madly my heart is pumping. “Give me your hand,” I grate, looking down at her. She shakes her head, refusing to look up at me. “Give. Me. Your. Fucking. Hand.” Another shake of her head, and further defiance by keeping her face down. I seize her jaw, squeezing hard, probably too hard. I know she feels it because she flinches, trying to pull away. That’s a novelty. She actually feels something. Without moving, she fights me with all she has, pulling against my pushing, but I win. She’s heaving by the time I get her eyes, the blue pits to her soul overflowing with anger. “Give me your hand, Rose.”
“Fuck you, Danny,” she mumbles through her squeezed lips.
I reach behind her and grab her hand, squeezing it tightly into a fist as I pull her arm around her front. Now, she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t try to pull away. I look down and see blood seeping out the cracks between her clenched fingers, and I damn myself for feeling brutal and cruel.
I pry her hand open until I’m staring down at the razor blade, the metal glistening with blood. Her blood. The only blood I’ve ever seen and wished I hadn’t. I breathe in, trying to gather the will to speak. I can’t. This woman, at every motherfucking turn, strips me of normal capabilities. I tip her hand, sending the blade to the marble floor with a little ping. It’s a ludicrously pretty sound for something so ugly and damaging. Taking in oxygen, I turn her arm over until I have her forearm, where a neat slice stretches