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“She thinks you’re going to kill her,” Ashe realizes suddenly, and the two of them trade a quick, bemused look.
“Yeah, yep. Definitely feeling that I’m going to not make it till morning,” I agree, my brain scrambling as I still fight not to show my fear on my face. “I just wouldpolitelyrequest–”
“We’re not going to kill you,” Ezra tells me slowly like I might need the extra time to process the words. “Didn’t you hear Cyril? I’m not allowed tobreakyou, which I wouldn’t do anyway, thank you very much. And that means I won’t kill you.”
“We have no reason tokillyou,” agrees Ashe with a nod.
“Then I can…go home?”
“What? No. Oh,fuckno.” Ezra’s deranged smile hinges back into place, and he grips my chin to turn me fully toward him, hand unyielding as he meets my gaze. “I didn’t get to play with him,” he reminds me, nodding to the bloody tarp that he’d pulled out of the house. “And I’m so fucking worked up. I wanted to. Iwantto,” he adds, and his blade is back and skimming along my jaw. “So now I get to play withyou.”
I hate how interested my body is in his words now that the possibility ofmurderis hopefully off the table. I look between them, lips still pressed together, and Ashe snorts again.
“Like you don’twantto.” He bats Ezra’s hand away and grabs the front of my hoodie to hold me in place. “But we aren’t the monsters you’re close to believing we are, Ari. Not even him.” At his words, Ezra grins almost apologetically and flicks the switchblade open, then closed. “Cyril wants to make a point. He thinks we can cause you to run away screaming and that you won’t stick your nose in our business again.” His grin widens. “But I think you can prove him wrong.”
“We could justsayI proved him wrong?” I offer, reaching up to curl my fingers around Ashe’s tattooed knuckles like I’m ever going to pry him off.
“No,” Ezra shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that. You want to be in our business, in our world so bad? Or, I guess it’s ourNeverlandnow that you’ve got him pleased over that whole Peter Pan thing.” I watch as he rolls his eyes, like Cyril has annoyed all of them with his use of Wendy Darling and not justme. “Then you fuckingprove it.”
Suddenly, I’m not so sure I want to prove it or be a part of this like they’re suggesting.
“I’m not cutting off fingers,” I tell both of them. “I draw a hard line at that. Even if they’re dead guy fingers.”
“We’d rather you give us all of your attention than cut off some dead guy’s fingers,” Ashe admits.
“Play with us,” Ezra goes on like he’s stuck on that one aspect of this entire night. And maybe he is because the excitement in his eyes feels a little contagious, and when my eyes are drawn back to the knife in his hand, it’s not because I’m afraid he’ll stab me with it.
“Then give me your knife,” I bargain dryly, only for Ashe to scoff and shake his head before Ezra can answer.
“Don’t,” he tells his companion. “Don’t youdare. She’ll accidentally hurt you.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll be by accident.” Ezra doesn’t sound put out by that fact, but he does pocket the blade. Butterflies flutter around my stomach at his words. “Can we hurry thefuck upand start a game?” he goes on, and I can’t help but want to snort at the whine in his words. “Or I’m going to stabyou, Ashe.”
“What’s your safeword?” If Ashe acknowledges Ezra’s words, he does it silently, his eyes still pinned on my face.
“Uh,what?” I ask, caught off guard by the question.
“Safeword,” Ezra repeats impatiently. “How are you going to let me know when I’m about to go too far, Ari?”
“When I stop breathing, you’ve probably gone too far.”
Ezra growls and steps toward me, but this time it’s his shirt that Ashe fists, though he looks at me with a disappointed frown. “Safe. Word,” he repeats. “So that I can let him go and know that he’s not going to hurt you more than you want him to.”
More than I want him to?
I’m not sure I want him tohurt meat all.
But something in me can’t help but rise to the challenge on his face or the excitement in his gaze as he watches me with parted lips, his breath rasping softly in the night air.
“Fucking hell…” I can’t believe I’m going to do this when they’ve made it clear theywilllet me go home if I really want them to. “It’s terracotta.”
“That’s a stupid fucking word,” Ezra mumbles.
“Yeah, noshitSherlock. That’s why it’s my safeword.”
“Run,” Ashe says before either of us can respond. His hand tightens in Ezra’s shirt, and his own eyes gleam.
I look at him and blink, confused by the word. “What?”
