It's the perfect time for my hands to find the knife strapped at my thigh. I launch it right into his main artery. His eyes pop open as blood spits spills over his suit and onto the expensive floors. He fumbles backward breaking the airy silence with his desperate attempt at breathing, his hands flinging to his neck as if that’ll stop the flow. As if he could put it all back in.
It's perfect. Gives him seconds, maybe up to a minute to know death is on his door.
He begins trembling to the floor, laughter spilling between his gargling.
I bend down, fingers wrapping around the knife and tilt my head at him. “It takes a monster to kill a monster.”
His laughter turns to a sneer, as his eyes shift over my shoulder behind me. Death. I figure.
A moment of hesitation, as if he wants to have one last say.
“Good luck—” his head hits the ground, silence all around us.
His fingers twitch once, twice, then still.
I stay for a moment, inhaling the scene. Years. I worked years to get to this point, to be the final thing he sees before the gates of hell.
Blood creeps toward my Valentino's, as I yank the knife from his neck, cleaning it on his suit before standing to my full height.
“Ivy.” His words hit the nape of my neck, right behind me. For how long?
Everything stops. It’s not a question. There’s no panic. Asher’s tone is far too calm for someone who just witnessed his friend be murdered by the woman he’s been fucking.
I don't turn. Can't. The reflection in the window shows Asher's silhouette filling the doorway, backlit by the hallway's dim glow.
“Don't.” The word scrapes out of my throat.
“Don't what?” His footsteps echo across tile. Different to Parker’s. Asher’s are measured and deliberate. “Pretend I didn't just watch you kill your husband?”
My pulse hammers against my ribs. “You should leave.”
“Should I?” He's closer now. Close enough that his breath ghosts across my bare shoulder. “That what you want, Venom?”
Is it?
“Yes.”No.
He rests his hand over my lower belly, pulling me flush against his chest. It’s terrifying how much power this man has over me. A simple touch steadies me.
“Breathe.” His voice vibrates over my spine, low and controlled. Not shocked. Not horrified. Just… there.
I can't.
Air won't come. My lungs refuse to expand. Parker's blood continues its slow crawl across marble, and all I can focus on is the weight of Asher's hand, the solid wall of his body behind mine.
“Ivy.” His lips brush my ear. “Breathe.”
My lungs open on command, sucking in oxygen.
He kisses my neck. “Good girl.”
His praise shouldn't affect me. Not now. Not with a corpse cooling ten feet away. But I know. I know that if he dragged his hand further down, he’d feel just how wet I was. How wet he makes me even during times where I shouldn’t be.
His other hand slides down my arm, fingers closing around my wrist. He brings my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my pulse.
“What’s next, hmm?” Still that same calm tone. Like we're discussing dinner plans instead of murder. What is with him? Did I have this all wrong? Why isn’t he freaking the fuck out?
I swallow. “Does it matter?”
