Of course she picked one of the most sentimental knives in the room to launch at me. Although all my weapons are special. Each of them have a history. My history.
Weapons make sense to me. They only have one purpose. To hurt.
They provide me with clarity.
Unlike women with soft mouths and dangerous eyes.
My gaze drifts back towards Liliana. She’s still watching me cautiously from across the room, breathing slightly uneven. Her dark hair is a mess from running through the house and she’s still in the clothes from yesterday when she was abducted. I make a note to rectify that by providing her with a new wardrobe by the time she wakes up tomorrow morning.
Her cheeks are flushed with adrenaline and anger, and somehow she looks even prettier because of it.
This is a fucking nightmare.
Before I can think better of it, I walk back toward her and hold out the knife.
Liliana blinks.
“What?”
“Take it.”
Suspicion flashes across her face immediately.
“Why are you giving me a weapon?”
“A peace offering.”
Plus, I want her to be more comfortable around me. To let her guard down. Like she did that night eighteen months ago.
She stares at me like I’ve finally lost my mind. Maybe I have. But I know without a doubt that she doesn’t truly want to hurt me. Just like I know I would never hurt her either.
Liliana hesitates before carefully taking the knife from my hand. The blade looks good against her skin.
“You’re just giving this to me?” she asks slowly.
“In exchange for good behaviour.”
She scoffs, “I didn’t agree to that.”
Of course not. Nothing’s ever easy with her.
“Fine. Do something else for me then.”
Her expression is wary, “What?”
A smile threatens at the corner of my mouth, “Have breakfast with me tomorrow morning.”
Now she really looks confused, “Breakfast?”
“Yes, little siren. It usually involves food.”
Her lips twitch despite herself and the sight hits me somewhere low and dangerous. I hate that I enjoy making her smile so much. Liliana glances down at the knife in her hand before looking back up at me carefully, like she’s trying to understand what game I’m playing.
I told you I don’t play games, baby.
“Fine,” she says eventually.
Something warm and deeply unwelcome settles in my chest at her agreement. The silence in the wake of it is soft, intimate.
