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My jaw clenches, and I exhale an irritated breath as I hold her tight.
Extending my knife toward Lakyn, I mumble. “You want to do the honors?”
Lakyn rears back. “I’m not killing her.”
My head tilts to the side. “Otherwise, we can let her go.”
Lakyn’s eyes narrow. “I don’t want someone else to die,” she growls.
Letting out a disappointed breath, I straighten, holding Steph tightly, who’s slowly growing her boldness back, attempting to get out of my hold.
“If she doesn’t die, you may go to jail,” I warn.
She breathes heavily, watching Steph in anger. “I… I can’t.” She shakes her head. “I can’t kill her.”
Gripping my knife tightly in my grip, I mutter. “I can.”
Swinging my knife down, I plunge it right into Steph’s stomach. She lets out a gasp, and I keep my eyes on Lakyn as I pull it back out, only to swing it back into the same spot.
It’s an odd feeling. From smooth skin to tense muscle, to soft organs. A combination of easy and tough as the metal of my blade sinks beneath her skin.
I do this repeatedly, listening as the small grunts release from Steph’s chest. I don’t stop, refuse to stop until she’s limp in my arms, bleeding into the leaves and dirt beneath my feet.
Pulling my knife out one last time, I let the crimson blood drip from the blade, sliding off the tip, drip by drip.
I drop Steph to the ground, letting her crash in a heap.
Lakyn’s heavy breaths are heard through the silence, as if she was the one who just exerted herself, working hard to murder someone else.
I glance up at her. “I hope you enjoyed your present.”
“What did you just do?”
I point at Steph with my knife. “I killed her. For you.”
Her head shakes again, slightly in a fog. “It’s not what I wanted,” she whispers.
I take a step toward her, and her body freezes. “Saving you… scares you?” I murmur.
She narrows her eyes. “Murder scares me! You just killed someone… right in front of my eyes!” She lets out a small cry, and it does nothing to me. Nothing.
I did this for her.
I take another step toward her, and I can see her limbs lock up, ready to bolt.
“Are you going to run from me, baby Lake?” I murmur.
There’s no lust in her eyes. Only fear.
“You’re a killer. A murderer.”
“For you. Because of you.”
She shakes rapidly in anger. “You aren’t doing this for me. You’re doing this because you’re a fucking psychopath. I didn’t ask you to do anything!” she shouts, and she’s too loud.
Much too loud.
I take another step, and she shuffles back.
