Page 41 of Mine

“Yes.”

He grabs my bicep and drags me down the hallway. Stumbling, I pull the cheese knife from my pocket and hide it in my fist.

He pulls me into the library and slams the door behind us. The sound echoes through the quiet house. “Sit.”

I’m dropped into one of the leather chairs in the center of the library.

I watch him storm across the room, grab a decanter of Scotch, and chug half the contents in one go.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then turns to me. “You were trying to run.”

“No,” I lie.

He crosses the room, stopping at the edge of my chair. “Give it.” He extends his palm.

“Give what?”

“The knife in your hand.”

“No.”

A tense moment passes between us, the electricity between us crackling.

Astor kneels, grabs my knees, and parts them, shoving inside my personal space. His eyes aren’t as cold and callous as they were before. Right now, they are dead. Vacant. It’s haunting.

He lifts his chin and tilts his neck to expose the throbbing vein. “Then go ahead and kill me.”

I can barely hear him over the blood rushing through my ears.

“Do it,” he says, seething. “Get it over with.”

When I don’t move, he grabs my hand and presses the knife against his throat.

“Do it.”

“No.”

“Do. It.”

“No!” I jerk out of his hold and hurl the knife across the room.

It clatters to the floor, shattering the silence between us. My heart is pounding.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I drag in a shaky breath. “What is wrong with you? Just let me go. Do you really think you’re going to get away with this?”

His face inches from mine, he asks, “And who is going to come looking for you, Miss Hart?”

The words hit deep, right through my soulless little hermit heart.

“Both your mother and father are dead,” he says, his words drilling in. “You have no siblings, no friends. You have no husband or boyfriend. You have no pet inside your shoebox-size apartment to bark or scratch at the door to let the neighbors know you haven’t come home. From what I can tell, Miss Hart, absolutely no one will miss you. No one would ever care if you left.”

“Fuck you.”

His hand wraps around my throat. Squeezing, he leans in and brushes his lips over mine. My body begins to tremble.

“If you ever say that to me again,” he whispers against my lips, “I will kill you.”

I ignite from the inside out, every sexual sensor in my body surging to life.

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