“No!”
He lifts the knife and then slams the tip down again, this time between our middle and ring fingers.
Then the ring fingers and the pinkies.
“Achilles—!”
“Ah, so theywerefor Kyle.”
The knife starts to move faster, the viciously sharp tip slamming into the table between two fingers, then out again, then down between the next two fingers, like a sick, twisted game.
“Please—”
The blade barely misses our thumbs.
“Okay!!” I scream. “They were for Kyle!!”
“Why,” he snarls into my ear. I try to yank my arm away, but he’s too strong.
The knife comes down faster and faster, starting to blur as he hits the table in quick little dancing stabs that send my pulse racing.
“Why thefuckwould you leave your goddamn panties for?—”
“They weren’t mine!!” I scream, trembling on his big lap, still feeling his huge erection throbbing against my pussy as the knife blurs and whizzes barely a quarter inch from our fingers.
“Then whose were they.”
“JANE DOE’S!” I scream, half choking and half sobbing. “The murder victim!!”
The blade keeps stabbing, the wind as the knife whistles past teasing over the edges of my fingers as I claw at the table and shake in his lap.
“Next question,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Why were you leaving murder evidence to frame him.”
My eyes squeeze shut.
“I’m not telling you,” I croak.
I can’t. This is as far as I go, even with the knife right there. Because telling him why I was trying to set Kyle up for murder means telling him what happened.
And Itruly cannot.
“Tell me!”
The blade is a rapid, staccato, stabbing blur of metal on wood.
TOCK TOCK TOCK TOCK TOCK
My pulse gallops as thunder booms outside and lighting sends jagged white light flashing through the windows.
“I can’t!!”
TOCK.
“You fucking can, and you fucking will!”
TOCK.
“Achilles!!”
