Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,48

watching it like a snake that might strike at any second. His fingers are feather-light along my bruised neck. I don’t remove the knife as his fingers dance over my bruises like he might be able to take it back. I want him to take it back. He shifts closer, and the blade releases more beads of blood.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” His words are low, his breath fans across my cheek.

His apology blurs my vision, and it almost breaks me.

“I’ll never hurt you again.”

I’m staring into dark, heavy eyes that still swirl with violence and hurt from earlier, and now I see something moving faster than all the rest, a want.

I tighten my hold on the knife. “You won’t hurt me again because if you do, I’ll slice your throat.” The threat should make him laugh. It tastes dirty in my mouth, but I want him to know I won’t stand for it.

“That’s fair. I would expect no less.” Shay’s body boxes me in, and flakes of paint press into my back. His free hand covers my shaking one, and he slowly removes the knife from his throat. I’m expecting him to snap back to the savageness I’ve seen in him, but he doesn’t. Once the knife is away from his throat, his face comes down to mine.

His lips are so close to mine, and all I want at this moment is for him to kiss me. His hot breath sends waves of excitement through my body. He makes me feel like I’m on a ledge. Shay makes me feel alive.

His lips brush mine, and I sink against him, but he holds me back slightly. “The next time you have a knife at my neck, you use it.” He releases me and steps away.

No more blood leaves the small slice on his throat, but he is still smeared from the earlier droplets. “Don’t ever hesitate.” His words are stronger, louder, and angrier. “You run that blade across the throat and put as much pressure as you can behind it.”

The knife is still in my hand. My lids blink rapidly. It's like my brain is trying to process what the hell he is talking about. Did he not just almost kiss me?

Shay steps closer to me again with a heartbreaking smile playing on his lips. “Then, you run.” His hand touches my cheek, and he leans in again. “You run, Emma.” He releases me like I burnt him, and I’m watching his wide back as he makes his way down the hall.

I don’t follow. My body trembles, and I close my eyes and count as I wait for my heart to fall into a normal rhythm that won’t have it threatening to punch through my chest.

When I get my heart under control, I put the knife back into my pocket. It’s a useless instrument against Shay. It’s as good as a spoon. I start to walk as light pours in from the open door at the end of the hall. Shay holds it open until I reach it.

As I search Shay’s face, I know a knife is worthless. I needed to find myself a gun.

We move across a large open space. Water drips from so many holes in the ceiling that I can’t focus on just one.

Shay’s focus is on a door that looks more suited to a bank. The only thing that’s missing is the big bars that you twist to open them. He knocks in a pattern, and the door opens. Before he walks through, Shay pauses, his attention back on me. I can’t read what he’s thinking or feeling as he turns away, and I follow him into a hive of activity.

I’m ready to bolt when the door slams behind me. I turn, expecting to see someone there, but I’m faced with the large steel door.

On either side of me people are seated, either counting money or on phones. It’s bizarre, and I get that sense again that I’ve walked in on something that should make me hold my breath. I shouldn’t be here; I shouldn't be seeing this. What this was exactly, I didn’t know, but I knew things were changing far too quickly between Shay and me. Bringing me here either meant I was going to be disposed of, or he trusted me.

At the far end of the room, a man in a suit stands. His smile is wide as Shay approaches him. A cigar burns away on a desk table that looks more suited to some