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“Marie, please.”
“I will not feel sorry for you,” she spits. “You killed a woman and used her credit cards to fund your life,” she yells.
“Fuck.” Bishop grimaces.
“Did you think about her since?” Marie taps his thigh with the side of the knife, the slap loud in the room. “While you were spending her money, did you regret your actions?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He turns his head to the side.
“Of course not,” she sneers. “You have to feel something to do that, besides hate and greed.” She grabs his shirt, holds it out, and cuts down the center. It falls open, revealing his hair-less chest.
That was hot. She calls to the demon in me. Seeing her embracing this side of herself is beautiful.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“Kill you,” she states calmly.
“Please,” he begs. His eyes track the knife she is twisting in her hand.
“Did the others beg?” she asks.
Her question is met by silence—Sammy’s lips are in a tight line.
“I didn’t beg, did I?” she asks. He stares at her, and she continues, “I didn’t beg when you forced me to pee in front of you. I didn’t beg when I woke up after being drugged and tied to a bed. I didn’t beg when you shot me after I tried to escape. When you hit me, I didn’t beg.” Marie gets in his face. “When you ran your hand down my chest, I didn’t beg. I thought about my mate and knew he would come for me.” I clench my jaw as I hear the details. “I used my blood from the wounds you gave me to help me escape the rope. I rubbed my wrists raw, trying to get away from you.” She grins evilly. “I would rather use my own blood to escape the binds you put me in, rather risk getting shot and dying, than stay one more minute in your presence.”
Sammy has nothing to say.
Marie lifts the knife, holding it in front of his face. “You bragged about all the plastic surgery you had on your face to make you better. Guess what? I’m your surgeon now.”
“No,” he whispers.
Marie runs the blade down the side of his face, a trail of blood in its wake. Her tongue sticks out of the side of her mouth, her fangs showing. I move closer. I don’t know how I’d feel about it if she decides to drink from him.
Sammy’s screams echo around us. I take a risk and get in Marie’s way, pushing gently, so I can catch Sammy’s eyes. “You will not yell or scream again.”
“Thanks, Bash,” Marie says brightly and slides her hand down my chest.
“Welcome, baby,” I say.
Fuck, I love this woman.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marie
God, I’ve never felt this powerful. I’ve also never felt this amount of rage before. I appreciate Bash’s interference; the screaming was hurting my ears. I stare at the knife in fascination. The blood doesn’t tempt me. It’s Sammy’s blood, the man that put me through hell. Speaking about the experience to the man that caused it is somehow freeing. The anxiety is gone. The fear is gone. I revel in the revenge.
My demon is riding under my skin, comforting, pushing me to do more. She’s fearless, confident, and powerful. Being a vampire has given me permission to be the way I have always wished I could be.
“Is this your knife, Sebastian?” I ask.
“It is.”
“I love it,” I purr. “I hardly have to put any pressure on it to cut deeply.”
I watch it lovingly as I slice Sammy’s other cheek. He hisses in pain, and his eyes water. The glee I get from the act will concern me later, but not now. Now, I want to do more—make him bleed more.
“You can’t hurt anyone ever again.” I nick each side of his neck. “The world will be a better place without you in it.” I draw a line with the tip from his Adam’s apple to his belly button. His blood flows and soaks into his pants.
