His smirk was heartless while he ran the blade over the table. Tremors spilled through me. I’d never trust this man. Add a weapon, and he became ten times more dangerous.
This time, a pinch of ease settled inside me.
He said he couldn’t kill me without permission. Since I didn’t know how evil the men who gave that permission were, I’d never be perfectly relaxed with him.
“Why did you writeI will atone for my sinsin your notebook?” His question broke my train of thought.
My jaw dropped as I fumbled for words.
Any lie to blurt out.
Anxiety and dread crawled through my insides.
I was shocked I found words when I said, “It’s something I do when I’m bored.”
An unreadable expression crossed his face.
He caught my hand, turned it over, and skimmed his thickfinger over my palm. My neck hunched forward when he flipped it back. Curiosity pawed at me like an animal as I tried to figure out what the hell he was doing.
A gasp ripped from my throat when he pinned my hand down with his while using the other to spin the knife between his fingers.
With careful precision, he parted my fingers. My head spun when the cold steel of the knife’s edge skimmed across my middle finger.
“Enzo,” I huffed out. I wished my breath sounded like a warning, but it sounded more like a plea.
He ignored me and jabbed the sharp point between two of my fingers. I attempted to yank my elbow back to free my hand, but he held me in place.
I twisted my elbow, barely missing my drink. “Stop it!”
His laughter was sinister when I glanced over my shoulder at the door.
“Oh, Blair, do you think anyone will come to your rescue here?” He stared me down in a way a predator did before devouring their prey and jabbed the space between two more fingers without looking. “I could slit your throat in front of the entire student body and administration, and no one would bat an eye.” He stabbed the knife into the table, so close to a finger. “They wouldn’t even provide a simple tissue to stop the bleeding. I’m your only protection here.”
“My protector or predator?” I gasped, my eyes fixed on the knife.
He shifted the knife to another gap between my fingers.
That started a rhythm for him as he slammed the knife’s tip between my fingers, gap by gap, before starting over.
He played this as a game, and he wasn’t gentle.
My eyes never left the knife. One wrong move, and he’d strike a finger. Blood rushed to my fingertips.
His hand moved faster as I gulped in breaths, waiting forhim to slip.
My heart stammered in my chest when he looked up, focusing on my face and not his stabbing. His eyes didn’t even glance at the knife now.
“You’d better start talking,” he warned. “It’ll be hard to write sentences in the future if you’re short a finger.” His next strike between the spaces of my hand landed harder. “When I hit one, I’ll make you sit here and watch it bleed. No ride to the hospital for you.”
I winced at the force of the knife driving into the table.
For a moment, I visualized the pain of metal crunching into my bone.
“It was how my father punished me!” I blurted out because he needed to get that fucking knife away from me.
He paused mid-strike, the knife tip hovering over a finger. “What sins did you need to atone for?”
“None,” I whispered.
