Page 143 of Primal

“Do it.” I shove at him again—harder, my heel digging into his ribs.

“Tick-tock, Thirteen. Or maybe Death wants a turn.”

That snaps Kade into gear.

The blade glides over my collarbone—only a whisper of steel. Nothing more.

I gasp. Let my head fall back.

Because that’s what we do now. We perform.

The tip drags down my chest, catching on my hoodie—wet, heavy, almost fused to my skin.

Lower.

The knife grazes my belly. Dips.

Pauses.

Then slides between my thighs.

My heartbeat slams against everything it can’t outrun.

Her hand enters the frame—gloved fingers clamping down over his.

“You can do better,” the bitch purrs through the modulator.

The blade jerks. She’s driving his hand, trying to split me open.

But Kade doesn’t give. Not even with Derek’s gun aimed at his skull.

Amanda snickers. “Come on. Don’t go soft on me, Ghostface.”

They’re fighting over the blade now. Her hand forcing. His resisting.

Fuck. If that blade enters me … I’m done.

“Let her have her fun, Thirteen. Or I’ll carve your girl open.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Nonono, please, no …

Something breaches me. I flinch, bracing for pain—for blood. For it all to fucking end.

The air rushes out of me when I look down.

The hilt’s buried inside me.

And Kade’s holding the other end.

“Fuck her with it,” Amanda barks. “Make her come.”

The world swims. I stare up at that stupid mask. Still him. Always him.

The handle shifts. In. Out. In. Out.

Not fast enough for my pulse to pick up. Not slow enough to give me a chance to breathe either.

Every part of me wants to shut down. To stop feeling.