And it kind of turned me on.
Blood was crusted to the side of her face, a stark contrast to her pale skin. More was matted in her black hair, a streak running right through the tattoo behind her ear.
If I were a nice guy, I might’ve cleaned her up while she was passed out. Maybe I wouldn’t have held a gun to her head in the first place, or fantasized about keeping it there as I kissed her. Grace was the kind of girl who screamedI don’t give a fuck what anyone doeson the outside, but then opened her mouth and came off soft-spoken.
So seeing her with a knife in her hand, poised to sink the blade into my fucking neck?
Surprised, but not shocked.
I leaned back against the wall across from her, arms and ankles crossed. I didn’t bother checking the time on my phone; I had all night. But shit, this girl couldsleep. It had to have been at least three hours since I brought her here. I had a little storage unit in town for some odd hobbies I’d tried to pick up but then easily let go. Forging was about the only thing I took a liking to, taking my supplies out in the nearby woods to make things like knives and little sculptures from scrap metal. When I wasn’t using them, they stayed tucked away in here.
It was an excuse to get away from the guys and off the ranch that was slowly starting to feel like it wasn’t my own.
Finally, Grace’s fingers moved the barest amount. It wasn’t much, but enough for me to know she was waking up. Minutes passed, and she didn’t lift her head. She’d likely come to by now and was quietly trying to figure out where she was without making her coherence obvious.
But I knew. I’d studied her still form for hours now.
“I know you’re awake.”
Her shoulders rose in a deeper breath before she slowly lifted her head. She blinked, eyes adjusting to the light. They squinted as she took in her surroundings. The majority of my shit was behind her, so it looked like I had her in a somewhat empty storage container. That was done purposefully. If she was scared, she might talk.
And she wasn’t leaving until she did.
“Why’d you hit me?” she asked, voice raspy. Her lashes fluttered like she was either clearing away the fatigue or her vision was still unsteady from the hit.
“Why’d you try to kill me?” I shot back casually.
Some of that earlier fire came back into her eyes, and she sat up straighter.
When I was met with only her silence, I shoved off the wall. “Was I not supposed to defend myself? Would that have made your job easier?”
Her features shuttered for a fraction of a second before she masked whatever she was thinking. “No one hits me.”
I cocked my head to the side, sensing a lie. But I’d play along if that made her talk. “Consider me your first.”
She sneered, but I had to give her credit. Her gaze never left mine.
I crouched between her parted, restrained legs, a few inches from actually touching her. “Why’d you try to kill me?”
She looked away, stubborn as ever.
My tongue ran over my upper teeth, sucking on them. “Alright, little killer. We’ll do this the hard way.”
I stood, moving out of her sight as I went behind her. I picked up a blowtorch, lighting the end of a pair of tongs. Once the tips glowed bright orange, I crossed back to where I’d been. With one hand, I slid the fabric of her black sweatshirt up the length of her stomach, exposing creamy skin.
Her breathing picked up as she yanked against the restraints, the rope making the flesh around her wrists turn red. She tried to mask the panic on her face, but her effort was futile. “You won’t burn me.”
“Won’t I?” I brought the tongs closer until they hovered over her skin. The heat likely seeped into her torso from this distance, giving her a taste of what was to come if she didn’t open her pretty mouth.
Her hand flexed as she tried to pull harder, the muscles in her stomach contorting as her breathing picked up.
“Last chance, Grace.”
Her nostrils flared wildly as she tried to keep her mouth shut.
With a shrug, I lowered the tongs.
“Wait!”
