Page 49 of Love You To Pieces

Hadn’t he noticed that I haven’t texted?

“It doesn’t matter.” Forcing my voice not to shake, I push away the ache of resignation. “I don’t need anyone checking on me. What I need is your keys, and I need my phone, since you apparently have it.” Trying to seem threatening, I jerk the blade a little harder against his throat, and this time, Fox sighs and gives a small jerk of pain.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he says, as a tiny bit of blood wells up at his throat. “Now how am I going to convince him to take it easy when you’ve made me bleed?”

“What?” The words make no sense, but a sudden noise behind me has me turning, or starting to.

But there’s suddenly a body at my back, and a hand lunges down to grab the knife from my fingers. I yelp at the pain of being forced to drop it, and I don’t even think to hold on more tightly before the knife is ripped from my hand and out of sight.

“I told you she’d cut you,” Deacon growls, one hand going around my waist when I try to move. “No, you aren’t going anywhere. I’m done playing this game with you. It was fun until now. Until you brought a knife in here.”

“She wasn’t going to kill me.” Fox sighs, propping himself up on his elbows. His thick lashes fan against his cheeks as he blinks a few times, and the blankets fall to his waist, revealing that he’s shirtless. “Ugh.” He reaches up with one hand and runs his fingers across his throat, grimacing at the bead of blood.

I didn’t mean to.

Guilt and horror twist inside me, and I try to move, only for Deacon to snarl and hold me tighter. “Say you’re sorry,” the blond snaps in my ear. “Or it’ll be your throat that gets cut next, little prey.”

Fear sends a shiver down my spine, and I look up at him as much as I can, twisting to glance back over my shoulder even though he’s fitted so well against me I can barely move. “I’m sorry!” The words are barely a gasp as I catch the heated look in his blue eyes. “I just⁠—”

“Not to me.” He suddenly shoves me forward until I’m sprawled out over Fox. “To him.”

“Fox, I’m sorry,” I say again. “I-I just want your keys. I just want to leave, okay!” While I hate how I feel the need to be defensive, when I try to push away from his warm, solid chest, his hand moves to tangle in my hair.

“It’s not very nice of you to cut my throat after I’ve been trying to take care of you,” he muses as his nails scrape pleasurably against my scalp in a way that feels affectionate. But there’s a darkness in his eyes that I barely recognize, and when he tilts his head to study me, he’s more predator than man. “Apologize better,” Fox suggests. “Or I’ll let him decide how to make you sorry.”

I don’t know how to apologize better, though my mouth is open again, lips forming the words to try again. My heart hammers against my ribs, and my brain screams about how this is a mistake.

“No.” His grip tightens, cutting me off with the sharp pain of the motion. “Not like that. I don’t need to hear your apologies, Sadie-Rae.” His grin grows crooked and mischievous. “Apologize better.”

But when I just stare at him, he chuckles, and it’s Deacon who leans over my shoulder to mock whisper in my ear, “Maybe you should kiss it and make it better.”

What?

The suggestion has me dumbfounded, but I’m moving before I can stop myself. I tell myself I’m not sorry. That this is me doing whatever I need to do in order to survive. Carefully, I shift, using my palms against Fox’s abdomen to reach his throat. “I’m sorry,” I breathe against his neck, pausing until he tilts his chin up just enough.

Somehow, through my stunned and fearful state, I do it. I kiss the small cut on his throat that’s barely bleeding, feeling his rough stubble against my nose when it bumps his chin. “I didn’t mean to cut you.” The words are soft and barely audible as my lips move against his skin so he can feel them, rather than hear them.

I’m doing this to survive. That’s all this is.

Fox’s grip loosens, becoming less painful, though he doesn’t let me pull away. “Kiss it and make it better,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating in his chest. “Come on. I know you’ve got it in you.” There’s something tight and restrained in his words, but I don’t give myself a chance to examine them.

More than anything, I wish I could see Deacon. Out of the two of them, he’s the one who scares me more, and with him behind me, I feel vulnerable. But I do what they say, my mouth finding the cut and kissing it gently, almost sweetly.

“Now clean it up for me.”

I freeze, chest tight, and my fingers curl slightly against his body. Surely he can’t mean⁠—

“With your tongue, Sadie-Rae.”

God, I’d hoped that wasn’t what he meant.

Gingerly I try to sit up instead, but Fox’s grip tightens again, making me wince. A small hiss leaves me, but I can’t do much else when I’m trapped like this. My mouth opens, just enough for me to lap at the cut with tiny kitten licks.

The taste of his blood on my tongue is coppery and sharp, though I tell myself it’s the same as when I bite my nails and suck until they stop bleeding. It’s the same thing and means even less.

Surely I can convince myself of that.

Surely it really is the same if I tell myself it is.