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CHAPTER8
KONRAD
“You need to raise your arm higher, bend your wrist back a little more. This is a blade-heavy knife, so throwing it by the handle is necessary,” Five explains, placing her fingers beneath my bicep and lifting my arm higher as I focus on the target across the other side of the dungeon.
“Like this?”
“Exactly, Master. When you’re ready, release the knife and remember to follow through with the movement.”
Once she’s satisfied that I’m gripping the knife correctly and in the proper stance, she steps back to give me space to throw. Drawing in two deep breaths, I pull back my arm, then throw as instructed. This time the knife lands exactly where it’s supposed to: right in the centre of the Baron’s severed head. The sound the knife makes as it slices through his bulbous nose is as satisfying as it is disgusting.
Five doesn’t even blink. She’s used to me and my… perversions.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not turned on by a severed head, particularly one that belonged to a sick fuck like the Baron, but wielding a knife and using it correctly to cause the most amount of harm as efficiently as possible? Sign me the fuck up.
Besides, it's a good distraction.
And fuck do I need one.
Rolling my head and shoulders, I attempt to let out some of the tension in my muscles. I’ve been strung tight ever since the night Zero died and Thirteen and Five brought her back to life. Even now, a week later, I’m still fuming that I wasn’t the one to do that. I don’t resent either Thirteen or Five, but I do fucking resent Leon for preventing me from helping them.
“Again?” Five questions.
“Yes.”
Five hands me another knife. It’s smaller than the one I’ve just thrown, but much more weighty. The surface of the blade is covered in scratches, the black leather handle well worn. If you look close enough, the sharp edge has tiny serrated teeth that will tear at the skin rather than make a clean cut. I press the very tip of the blade against the pad of my thumb. It barely needs any pressure to slice through the skin. A tiny bead of blood rises to the surface and I suck it off, smiling at the memory it brings to the surface of Zero strapped to the St Andrew’s cross three cells over, her eyes rolling back in her head from the pleasure and the pain.
Just like her, this knife feels good in my hand. Like itfits.
“Most people believe that the bigger the knife the deadlier the weapon, but that just isn’t true,” Five says. “Anything can be used as a weapon to kill, you just have to know how to use it the right way to get the job done.”
“Is that so?” I ask, cutting a look at Five, knowing that she’s not just talking about this knife.
“Yes.” She jerks her chin at the knife clutched in my hand. “This is a handle-heavy knife so you should throw it by the blade. It’ll strike the target better if you do. If your aim is true and you manage to sever one of the main arteries, it will kill a person. If you miss, the tiny teeth will tear through tendons and muscles as you pull it out. That type of wound is far harder to fix than one caused by a straight-edged blade.”
“Like this?” I ask, pinching the flat edge of the blade between my fingers.
“Precisely. Position yourself as before, then when you’re ready, throw.”
Focussing on the Baron’s gaping mouth still caught in a silent scream, I lift my arm over my throwing shoulder and keep my elbow tucked in so the knife is situated directly beside my ear, then throw. It slides right through his open lips.
“Better?” I ask, not particularly seeking her approval, but needing to strike up a conversation in order for me to get my mind off of wanting to simultaneously kill my brother for refusing to let me help bring Zero back, and thank him for doing precisely that. The two sides of me are at war with themselves. The part of me that has a modicum of decency left knows he was right to keep me away, the other part, the bigger and far more dominant part, is fuming.
Fuckingraging.
“You’re improving,” Five replies before striding over to the Baron’s head and pulling both knives out of his face. She reaches for a cloth tucked into the leather belt at her waist and cleans them before placing them on the table with the rest of her collection.
“Thanks to you.”
She nods curtly, not certain how to react to my compliment. “You’re a quick study.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
“Thank you, Master.”
Flicking her gaze away, she busies herself with wrapping up her collection of blades. I watch her with interest as her small hands slide over each lethal weapon as though they are more than just inanimate objects. I guess to her they are. These knives are the difference between her being fucked raw in every available hole whenever we have clients visiting the castle, to being a bodyguard to the Numbers.
Truthfully, of all the Numbers, I respect Five the most. Her skills far outweigh those of the others and whilst I appreciate their artistry, being able to sever an artery from thirty feet away by throwing a knife is far more impressive than being able to sing or play the piano. That shit might impress Jakub, but not me.
