Page 117 of Primal

I drag my index finger across his knuckles, writing A-M-A-N-D-A.

He traces back on my palm—W-H-O?

P-I-G-F-A-C-E!

P-L-A-Y-E-R?

Y-E-S

His fingers tighten around mine. Understood.

Pigface—Amanda—stops mid-stride.

Shit.

I try yanking my hand back. Too late.

Bitch is already staring. Already closing in.

Kade doesn’t let go—even as Amanda looms over us, that stupid robe brushing my knee.

I catch another flash of those thigh-highs, and my free hand balls into a fist.

You fake-ass, backstabbing, blood-thirsty, conniving little—

She does that head-tilt thing again. Baby giraffe meets American Psycho.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” she drawls through the Ghostface modulator—as if we’re a fucking Hallmark ad instead of her next playthings.

My spine locks as she pulls out a knife.

Knew it. That robe wasn’t just for hiding her boots.

She presses the hilt into Kade’s other palm, curling his fingers around it. Then she turns to me, modulator buzzing:

“Now, you take the other end, Thirty-one.”

Thirty-fucking-one. Bitch can’t even say my name.

Kade’s jaw flexes. His grip tightens.

snap-hiss.

The taser sparks an inch from his nose. Kade just stares up at the mask like he’s memorizing exactly where to drive the knife in.

The taser crackles again—this time close to my neck. “Don’t be stupid. You think you’re fast? I light her up before you even move.”

“Dollface,” Derek calls from the altar, not even looking up. “Quit flirting and get your ass up here.”

Amanda snatches the knife back and stomps off like a pet denied its chew toy.

“I hugged that psycho,” Kristy mutters.

I blow out a breath. “Yeah, me too.”

Kade squeezes my hand.

I look down—right where our fingers are still tangled up.