Her hand trembled around the mug.
Lifting my arm, I raised my glass. “Shall we toast to your success?”
Skylar’s lips thinned before she gave me a stiff nod.
“In the words of the dramatist John Ford, ‘revenge proves its own executioner,’” I said, watching how my calculated words hit Skylar before taking a sip of my drink.
Her hand shook so violently she had to wrap a second hand around the mug before it dropped. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Say what? Oh! You’re right. Wrong quote. What’s a better one?” I tapped my finger against my lips, pretending it was an innocent mistake. “What is that one by Confucius? ‘If seeking revenge, dig two graves, one for yourself’?”
She gasped.
I held up my hand. “Wait. Wait. No, that’s not it.”
She slammed the mug down. “Stop it.”
When I was younger, I liked to torment the hunting dogs by tying pieces of raw meat to their throats and watching them fight until they were covered in blood.
This was more fun.
It only took two steps to cut off her direct path to the door; another two, and I was in front of her.
She looked up at me, spine locked, but the whites of her eyes gave her away.
She took two steps backward, but I was too quick.
I struck out, my fingers twisting into her hair at the base of her scalp. “I warned you about talking back to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered.
My breath brushed against her as my other hand grazed her cheek. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”
She rose on her toes to try and ease my grip as her palms pressed against my chest. “Please, Jameson. Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
I loved it when she begged.
I reached for the mug and lifted it to her lips. “Drink.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Please…don’t make me.”
I pressed the rim of the mug against her cheek, pushing the porcelain against her flesh. “Pierce is not dead.”
Her fingernails clawed against my chest as she pushed backward. “What are you talking about?”
“The drug will put him in a coma, not kill him.”
Her body jerked as her lower lip trembled. “But you told me…”
“I know.”
“You let me believe I…”
I stared at those perfect red lips and wanted to smear the lipstick across her cheek. “Did you for a moment think I would trust a backstabbing little whore like you with my real plans?”
“You bastard.”
I rolled the mug over her lips until the porcelain clinked against her teeth. With a yank on her hair, I wrenched her head back as I tipped the mug. Liquid dribbled over her lips as she coughed and sputtered. “Drink.”
