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With one swift move, I pull out the stiletto knife I have concealed under my jacket, holding the gleaming steel tip against his throat. I never go anywhere without it.
Dima’s face pinches with fear as I jab his flesh with the tip. I stare into eyes that are identical to mine. Pure unadulterated fear flickers back at me. He really thinks I might kill him and I’m damn close to the edge of reason.
A tiny dot of blood appears on his skin. A thin stream drizzles down his neck, hitting the top of his shirt collar. The angry red stain spreads into the fabric.
“Unlike you, if I want to kill someone, I do it myself. I don’t delegate the job, you pussy.”
He grits his teeth and slaps his fingers over my wrist. “You can’t stop this, Luka. You have no shot in hell of saving anyone, including yourself.”
My hand trembles and the metal tip of the knife jerks against his skin.
The hell I can’t.
The plan just changed.
Because I can fucking stop everything.
