Enough to show me she's serious.
"I could gut you right here," she says conversationally. "Open you up from navel to sternum. Watch you bleed out on this nice hardwood floor." The knife traces a line across my stomach, and I feel another scratch, another drop of blood. "Would you like that? Would your father like to find you like that—slit open like a slaughtered pig?"
"Please stop." Tears are streaming down my face now. "Please, I'm—I'll tell you whatever you want to know, just please?—"
"What is it?" Her eyes are bright with interest. "What are you hiding?"
I can't tell her.
If she knows about the baby, she'll use it.
She'll hurt the baby to hurt me, to hurt my father.
But if I don't tell her, she might kill us both anyway.
The knife presses harder. I feel blood running down my stomach, warm and wet.
"I'm pregnant," I gasp. "Please, I'm pregnant. I'll do whatever you want, just please don't hurt my baby."
Solveig goes very still.
For a long moment, she doesn't move, doesn't speak.
The knife is still pressed against my stomach, the tip still drawing blood.
But she's frozen, staring at me with an expression I can't decipher.
"Pregnant," she repeats.
"Yes. Please. I just found out this morning. Please don't?—"
"Whose is it?" Her voice is sharp now. "The Irish boy? The bodyguard?"
"Yes. His. It's his."
She laughs. It's an ugly sound—brittle and breaking at the edges.
"Oh, this is perfect." She stands, pulling the knife away from my stomach but keeping it in her hand. "This is better than I ever imagined. Not just Runes' daughter—Runes' grandchild. A whole generation of his bloodline, wiped out in one day."
"Please. I'll do anything. I'll be your hostage, your leverage, whatever you want. Just let me keep this baby."
"You think you're in a position to negotiate?" She leans in close, her face inches from mine. "You don't have anything I want except your death. And now I know I'll be killing two for the price of one."
A sob tears from my throat.
I strain against the ropes, desperate, terrified.
I can't let her hurt the baby.
I can't.
I'll do anything, say anything, be anything?—
"But not yet," Solveig says, straightening. "I still want your father to watch. I want him to know about the baby before I cut it out of you. I want him to see exactly what he's losing."
She turns and walks to the window again, looking out at the road.
"He'll be here soon," she says. "And then we can finally end this."
