Page 66 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

My brows lift as he digs himself a verbal hole, and after a glance at my knife, he hastily adds, “In an adorable way. I loved every second of it. Because I loved you. Love you.”

He gives me the smile that used to get him out of trouble and into my pants, back when I thought he was marvelous. But now I hear a trace of self-congratulatory smugness underneath it, like he just delivered an unbeatable closing argument that’ll finally make the little lady see reason.

Looks like he forgot that a little lady with a knife beats a man lashed to a chair every time.

I lean over him and run the flat of my blade across the front of his sweater. His nervous eyes follow my progress as I trace his collarbones with the metal, and based on the way his lungs are starting to work overtime, he’s starting to figure out that he’s in actual trouble.

“I bought you this for Christmas our last year together, didn’t I? So thoughtful of you to wear it tonight.” I rest the tip of the knife on the hollow of his throat. “You always did look good in green.”

Then I slice through the soft knit, leaving the neckline intact but parting the fabric below it to expose his stomach. Unlike Gomez, I’m not particularly careful with my blade and nick his stomach a couple of times. Oops.

The reminder of Gomez pulls a smile to my lips. I bet he’d love watching this. He’d probably throw me down once I’m done here and give me twice the orgasms this whimpering prick ever did.

Now Hugo, on the other hand…

God. Tears burn my eyes as I picture his horrified expression if he walked in right now. He’d be shocked, disgusted. He’d be terrified.

Desperate to shred the image of his affectionate gaze turning cold, I pocket my knife and slide onto my ex’s lap, straddling him as I trail my fingers down the solid muscles of his chest.

“You’ve been keeping it tight at the gym, haven’t you?” I purr.

He growls and jerks forward, but I easily dodge his attempt to smash my nose with his forehead.

“Behave.” I pinch his nipple hard, then throw my head back with a laugh. “Oh, Greg. Really?”

His cock hasn’t gotten the danger, danger, danger message, and I glide over the erection suddenly prodding my ass.

“Still wanna fuck?” I ask. “For old time’s sake?”

He glares up at me with a mix of hate, defiance, and lust. “If that’s what you want,” he grinds out.

“Oh god, no. I wouldn’t fuck you with your own dick.” I bounce on his lap. “Although that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had…”

He moans, and it’s part torture and part want.

“I swear,” he pants. “If you let me go, I swear I won’t say anything.”

“Okay,” I say with another swivel of my hips. “I believe you.”

Then I grab my knife and cut through the last intact section of his sweater. And double oops, my blade sails clean through the ribbed collar and catches on the underside of his chin. Blood wells in the long, shallow cut before slowly oozing down his neck.

“What the fuck, Rue?” he shrieks, starting to thrash for real as I slide off his lap to avoid getting bled on. “Help! Help! Somebody call the police! Fuck, help!”

His face flushes red above the deep crimson trickling down his chest, the veins in his neck popping as he screams. I shoot a comical grimace at the camera, enjoying the irony of performing for Fi the way Greg performed for the Philosopher Kings. Then I cross my arms and let the knife dangle between my fingertips.

“I’m going to leave you alone to scream yourself out like an overtired toddler, which is kind of what you are, in all honesty,” I say. “But while I’m gone, I’d like for you to think really, really hard about why I might have you strapped to my chair. When I come back, maybe we can talk.”

He glares sullenly up at me, blood still dripping from his chin. “Fuck you, bitch.”

“Such mean words, sugar,” I croon as I circle to stand behind him. “I’ve got three for you, too.”

His muscles tense when I rest my hands lightly on his shoulders so I can whisper into his ear.

“The Philosopher Kings.”

And there it is. A crack in his armor. It’s there in the hitch in his breathing, the new tension in his shoulders. His mind’s going to scramble over everything I might know, and the stink of his fear is the most delicious thing in the world.

“Wait!” he calls when I start to leave the room. “Why not give me a reason to cooperate?”