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Sterling surprisingly didn’t react at that. He simply kept watching me with an unreadable expression as the rain slid down his face.

“He came home from work,” I continued, and my voice sounded distant, like this had all happened to some other woman. Not to me. “Called out my name like everything was normal, and he went upstairs to change his clothes.” I swallowed. “I was hiding behind the door with a knife.”

I braced myself…waiting for him to run. But he still didn’t move or speak.

So I kept going.

“I stabbed him the second he stepped inside. I tied him to a chair while he bled. And then I tortured him for hours—I carved him up piece by piece and laughed when he begged. I made him feel every ounce of pain he’d ever given me and more.”

The rain roared around us, but I could hear my own voice with terrifying clarity…and I could see it in my head. I could hear the wet sounds of my knife driving into his skin, how his screams had eventually turned to whimpers…how I’d danced around the bedroom afterward, drenched in his blood.

“And I was happy about it,” I finished unapologetically. “The entire time. Glad he was finally the one breaking.”

I lifted my chin, daring him to look away now, to flinch, and then scream and run like he should. I braced myself for the moment his expression would change…for the recoil. For the inevitable step back that would mean this was where it ended.

Sterling didn’t do any of those things.

He kept staring at me as the rain lashed his face. His dark blue eyes burned into mine like he was seeing straight through to the bloodstained parts I’d hidden for so long.

“Good.”

My eyes widened in shock as the word hung between us. “Good?” I said in a cracking voice that was edged with disbelief. I searched his face for the lie, the horror, anything but this.

“Sterling…I just told you I tortured a man for hours. I enjoyed it. One of the newspapers called me the Boston Black Widow…and nothing they said was a lie.”

“Where?” he asked.

I blinked. “What?”

“Where did you stab him first?” His voice dropped, rough and intent. “Tell me.”

My throat tightened. “His side,” I said finally, the words dragged out of me. “I wanted him to feel it before he even knew what was happening.”

Sterling’s gaze darkened, not with horror, but with something that made my stomach flip.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “And then?”

I shook my head, falling back against the car. “This isn’t something you should⁠—”

“Where did you stab him next?” he pressed, crowding me even more.

My breath came faster now, uneven, my mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want to know,” he said, his voice calm in a way that didn’t match anything about this moment.

“You should be disgusted,” I snapped, panic breaking through. “You should be running, or⁠—”

“How did you end it, Sienna?” he asked, cutting me off.

I snarled at him. “Fine,” I said harshly. “You really want to know, Sterling? I cut out his fucking eyes. To make sure he never looked at me again.”

I tilted my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze, to see when this all fell apart.

“So what now?” I asked, the challenge clear. “Are you disgusted yet? Are you ready to run?”

Sterling stared at me for what felt like forever before he snatched my hand and yanked it downward, pressing my palm against the thick, rigid bulge straining behind his jeans. My breath hitched; he was rock hard, the heavy length of his cock throbbing hot and insistent under my fingers.

He didn’t let me pull away. Instead he ground his hips forward, forcing me to feel every inch of him as he growled, “Tell me…does it seem like I’m disgusted to you?”