Page 134 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

And so did I.

Career-ending, Eliza had said.

Heh.

I settle into the visitor's chair beside the bed and lean back, cross one ankle over the opposite knee, and pull out my knife.

Snick.

The blade shines in the blue light from the monitor beside his bed.

Wade's eyes crack open.

The painkillers have him swimming, pupils blown wide, his gaze unfocused and drifting. But when I lean forward and let the monitor light fall across my face, those glazed eyes snap to me.

"Evening," I say pleasantly.

His mouth works. No sound comes out except for a wet, strangled noise in the back of his throat. His good hand twitches toward the nurse call button on the bed rail.

I reach over and slide it just out of reach.

"We won't need that," I tell him, smiling. "This is a private conversation."

Wade makes another sound.

"Thank you for understanding. I'm here to serve you the terms of the rest of your sorry life," I begin, turning the knife in my fingers. The blade rotates lazily, catching light, losing it, catching it again. "You won't think about Ivy again. You won't speak to her. You won't text her. You won't email her. You won't send intermediaries, private investigators, family members, teammates, agents, lawyers, fans, or anyone else to contact her on your behalf."

Wade's eyes follow the knife with a thin, reedy whimper.

"You won't mention her name in interviews. You won't play the betrayed fiancé for the cameras. You won't post about her on social media. You won't allow anyone else to post about her on your behalf. If a reporter asks about her, you'll say 'no comment' and change the subject, and you'll do it convincingly, awkwardly, to make it clear you know you fucked up, because I'll be watching." I tilt the knife so the flat of the blade sends a blue line across Wade's face. "And I'm always watching, Wade. Even when you think I'm not."

His breathing has gone shallow and rapid. The heart monitor picks up, beeping faster.

"If you violate any of these conditions," I continue, "I will find you. And I won't come to talk."

I lean forward.

"I'll start with a finger."

The knife spins. Click. Catch. Click.

"Ivy already took one. Symmetry is beautiful, isn't it? So I'd take the matching one on the other hand first. Then perhaps the ring fingers, since you'll never need those." I pause, considering. "Then the index fingers. Those are useful. You'd miss them. It would be funny if you only had the middle ones left, considering those are your favorites."

Wade's IV arm jerks against the bed rail.

"It might even be ironic." I let out a low chuckle. "Is that the correct use of that word? English isn't my mother tongue, and Plague would bitch if I'm wrong," I muse. "Anyway." I spin my knife again. "After the fingers, I'd move to⁠—"

Scrrrape.

I stop.

The sound comes from the window on the other side of the curtain.

Thump.

I keep my eyes on Wade.

"I'd move to your face. Carve your mouth just like Wraith's."