Page 10 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“Yeah, I am.” Might as well stop pretending this is anything other than exactly what it is. And that’s when I notice that his grip on me has loosened as we’ve been talking. It’s enough that I can slowly, so very slowly, start inching my hand down my leg toward the pocket where my knife’s waiting.

“I’m sure you know this,” I say, hoping to keep him focused on talk, not movement, “but Howard’s shift ends in five-ish hours, and I want to be long gone by then.”

There’s nothing but the sound of our breathing until he says, “If I let you go, will you leave without fucking up my plans?”

I snort, forcing my body to stay relaxed as my fingertips hit the edge of my pocket and brush the handle of the knife. “How about you leave without fucking up my plans?” I pinch the handle between the tips of my fingers. Now I just need to drag it up my leg and into my hand without him noticing.

To cover the motion, I arch my back and bump him hard with my butt, hoping it seems like another escape attempt and not a bid to give myself a few extra centimeters to maneuver. And holy shit, it works even better than I expected. Instead of holding me tighter, he shifts backward, loosening his grip on my midsection even more. Why is he…?

Oh my god. He moved so his groin isn’t touching me. I’m actually offended. I mean, he should be so lucky. Then again, if he’s busy worrying about where his precious penis is vis-à-vis my perfect, heart-shaped ass, I may be able to use this to my advantage.

Who’s catching who off guard now, motherfucker?

“If I leave,” I say, bumping him again as I position my thumb on the blade release so I’m ready for my moment, “how do I know you’ll follow through?”

“Do you seriously expect me to give you my murder résumé?” The amusement’s back in his voice, chasing away some of the gravel I’ve been hearing. That rumble must be as much of an act as my husky lower register is.

“Yes. I do.”

He gives me a gentle shake, the growl back. “You’re not exactly in a position to argue.”

It’s the opening I was hoping for, and I spring my blade and rotate my wrist so the tip’s pressed against his thigh.

“Sure about that?” I ask. “Because I’d say our positions are about even.” My angle’s terrible and my palms are sweaty inside my gloves, but I’m good with a knife, and I let that confidence show in my voice.

After the tiniest hesitation, he strikes, but instead of going for my knife, he reaches around my neck to wrap a hand around my throat, giving up the fight to keep any distance between us. His grip isn’t tight enough to cut off my airway, but he’s using enough pressure to remind me who’s stronger.

“Good girl. Not going down without a fight.”

That sexy rasp is almost enough to get me to stop fighting entirely, but I’m no quitter. I wrap my free hand around his wrist and try to pull it away, but that massive, muscular arm won’t budge.

My struggle makes him chuckle, and that’s when I realize three things. One, he’s not scared of my knife at all. Two, that’s a very hard cock pressing into my lower back. And three, the mess of fear and anger that’s been pounding through me since he pulled me into the closet has morphed into something different, and it feels a lot like…

Shit. I’m turned on. All that nervous energy buzzing under my skin is crashing up against the complete control he has over me. His hand on my throat, his commands in my ear, his easy authority chasing away my terror and replacing it with lust. I bet post-kill sex with him would be incredible—if he doesn’t decide to snap my neck first.

Most women would file that under reasons to run. I file it under foreplay. Still, I haven’t survived this long through luck alone, so I’ll have to give him his own reason to run.

“I didn’t ask for your approval,” I say around the pressure of his hand and the fire heating my blood, pressing my knife harder against his leg. “Want more? Because that’s four inches of carbon steel really close to your junk.”

The chuckle I’m hating less and less rolls through him. “Only four?”

“It’s how you use it, baby.” I increase the pressure on my blade until it pierces fabric and bites into his thigh. He hisses.

“So you’re going to gut me like a fish in this closet and walk away?” he asks, somehow sounding pissed and amused at the same time. “You don’t care if you kill good guys along with the bad ones?”

“I do care, actually. Are you telling me you’re a good guy?”

He’s silent for a beat. “I only kill bad guys, so that makes me…”

My brain fills in the sentence he can’t bring himself to finish. He’s not exactly a good guy, but then again, neither am I. I mean, I’m ready to hop on the cock of this guy who wants to kill the person I’m also here to kill. This stranger, who’s bigger and stronger than me in every way and who still has a possessive hand wrapped around my throat.

And oh yeah, I lightly stabbed him just now.

That’s my cue to wrap this up and get gone. Taking messy risks was Mom’s style, not mine.

“Listen,” I say with way more bravado than I feel, “my wrist’s starting to cramp. If you’re going to kill me as a little appetizer before Howard, can you just get it over with, please?”

I feel the shock run through his body before he blurts, “I’m not going to kill you!”