I think I’m about to hyperventilate.
My heart is on overdrive, and my body can’t keep up. My own body might finish me off before he does, like a baby bird that can easily succumb to stress alone.
If I’m going to die, I’m not sure which way is worse.
The lump lodged in my throat stays even when I swallow roughly. “I wanted to enjoy my coffee in peace. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”
One hand clutches the knife. The other is drumming on the arm of the chair with bloody fingers. “A sign that saysrestrictedisn’t a suggestion. Not very good at following directions, are we? Which brings me to my next question. How did you get down here,Kate?”
His use of my name has my blood coursing through my veins like cement. My name slipping off his tongue is like a bucket of ice water poured over exposed skin, but it also has an unexpected current of warmth penetrating somewhere unreachable. My teeth are damn near close to chattering from the terrified adrenaline and cold atmosphere that is trying to drown me.
“How do you know my na—”
Before I can finish the question, he lifts the knife and positions the tip at my knee.
It’s probably the wrong time to release sarcasm, but I squeal, “There wasn’t a restricted sign on the door.”
His jaw jumps, his eyes narrowing. I sharply inhale, remaining completely still as he digs the tip of the blade into the fabric of my gray work overalls above my knee cap. Tears pour over my bottom lashes heavily now, leaving searing trails in their wake before falling to my chest. I only had a little bit of mascara on, but I’m betting it's swiped all over my cheeks like modern art.
My chaotic, ragged pants drift between us, but he doesn’t let up or let me distract him. He starts slicing upward at a controlled pace, not at all deterred by the hysteria slowly taking over my body.
“A girl lost her phone on the ride, and it went down a grate. When I looked down, I saw the tunnel. Finding the secret door in the closet was just dumb luck.” I don’t think I’ve ever talked so fast, but my damn life is on the line here.
His condescending laugh doesn’t waver his attentiveness as he continues cutting my pant leg open to expose my skin to him.
“Dumb luck? I’m not a naive man, darling. Give me more credit than that. All our entrances are hidden. Secure. Which means you were looking for them, whether you like to admit it or not.”
He picks up his speed, and the rush of cold air that glides across my thigh has my eyes dropping to see the slit he’s cut in my pants. As he gets closer to the dip where my hip meets my thigh, blackness starts seeping into the corners of my vision. Hard, crippling panic creeps up my throat like the long legs of spiders tapping on the inside of my esophagus.
The blade isn’t making contact with my leg, but I swear I can feel the cold touch of the metal hovering just above my flesh.
Flashbacks slaughter my vision, my body pressed below Xander’s as he thrusts in and out while the tip of the knife slides effortlessly through my skin. I was too young to understand blood play. I guess it shouldn’t have come as a shock, considering he was the phlebotomist who drew my blood at the drive where we met. His passion for his job was evident. In fact, his love for his career was one of the things that drew me to him. But his position was a cover to conceal his true obsession, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.
My tear-stricken face is uncomfortably hot.
His movements pause, drawing me back to the present. “Two times! I’ve caught you trespassing twice. Why is that?”
“This is all just a coincidence,” I sob. “I swear.”
He removes the blade, and although I should be filling my lungs with a breath of relief, I don’t.
He points the tip of the knife toward me, and it's the first time I notice the sheen of blood on the blade glimmering in the fluorescent lights. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe things are done with intention, even when we aren’t aware of it. This is the second time I’ve found you lurking where you aren’t supposed to, and there are far too many connections between complications with my operations and yourcoincidentalwhereabouts.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
I shake my head, sinking my teeth into my lower lip. The salty taste of tears coats my taste buds.
He leans over my fragile frame, lifts the hand holding the hunting knife featuring carved designs on the blade, and drags the blunt end of the cool metal along my neck. His eyes latchonto the three-inch scar below my earlobe, but that doesn’t stop him from gliding the blade over the risen, ugly skin.
I choke back the cry that wants to release, my body trembling so much that I would be the reason if it pierces through my skin.
His control in this situation is frightening.
“Do you still have the same answer?” he murmurs. “Or do we need to release some of the blood that’s rushing to your head so you can think straighter?”
Holy shit.
