Page 41 of Black Heart

“Looks like you’re all mine now, sweetheart.”

I clamp my lips shut, the tears running freely now. Did Iimagine the Scythe without a mask? Was there ever a cat? Am I having a nightmare?

Oh God, please let this be a really bad dream…

My body stays in fight mode, pulling uselessly at the restraints, bucking up and down without actually making any headway. Sweat and blood have made me slippery, but not enough to escape what this man wants to do to me.

A feral snarl rips through the air, followed by a yowl of pain. My eyes fly open to see Reaper latched onto Bonesaw's arm, claws and fangs sank deep into his flesh.

He curses, trying to shake the cat off, but Reaper holds fast. Taking advantage of the distraction, I rear back and slam my head into Bonesaw's nose with a sickening crunch.

He staggers back, blood gushing down his face, and Reaper leaps free. The cat lands gracefully on its feet and races off into the shadows.

"You fucking bitch!" Bonesaw roars, one hand cupping his shattered nose. Murder flashes in his eyes as he lunges for me again.

I brace for impact, but it never comes. Instead, a dark shape blurs past me and slams into Bonesaw with the force of a wrecking ball.

The Scythe.

The two men hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, fists and feet flying in a brutal, no-holds-barred brawl. I can barely track the vicious blows as they roll across the concrete, grunting and snarling like wild animals.

Bonesaw manages to get in a few solid hits, his knuckles splitting open the Scythe's eyebrow and lip. But the Scythe gives as good as he gets, driving his knee into the other man's ribs with an audible crack.

They scramble to their feet, circling each other like wolves,both bloodied and panting. The Scythe's eyes are chips of blue ice, promising death.

"I warned you," he growls, voice guttural, "not to touch her."

Bonesaw spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?" Bonesaw’s split lip curls into a mocking grin. "She's just a piece of ass. Since when do you care about the meat?"

The Scythe's nostrils flare. His muscles coil, every inch of his exposed skin stretched taut over sinew and bone. "You forget your place. I am not one of Morelli’s lackeys to be trifled with."

"Fuck Morelli. He didn’t say how hot she was. And fuck you, too." Bonesaw lunges, a glint of steel flashing in his hand.

The Scythe twists, the knife scoring a thin line across his ribs. Crimson wells, trickling down his side, but he doesn't even flinch. His hand snaps out, seizing Bonesaw’s wrist in a vise grip. Bones grind together as he applies pressure, the knife clattering to the floor.

Bonesaw howls, his free hand scrabbling at the Scythe's iron hold. But it's futile. With a vicious wrench, the Scythe dislocates Bonesaw’s shoulder, the wet pop reverberating through the room.

Bonesaw’s agonized scream cuts off into a gurgle as the Scythe's other hand clamps around his throat. He slams the larger man against the wall, concrete cracking under the force.

"There’s no question that I’ll kill you," the Scythe hisses, his face a mask of cold fury. "The only difference is, now I’m wondering whether to feed your entrails to Reaper and leave your carcass for her kittens."

Bonesaw's eyes bulge, his good hand clawing weakly at the Scythe's implacable grip. His feet kick uselessly, dangling a foot off the ground.

“But I don’t feed them rotten pork,” the Scythe continues, his voice dropping to a lethal purr.

He leans in closer until they're nearly nose to nose. Bonesaw's face is turning purple, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

Slowly, deliberately, the Scythe reaches behind his back and draws a wicked-looking knife from a sheath at his waist. The blade gleams.

Bonesaw sees it.

“Wait,” he croaks, throwing up a hand in a feeble attempt to ward off the Scythe. “Wait, we can?—”

The Scythe releases Bonesaw’s neck to grab a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head back to expose the vulnerable line of his throat.

The knife flashes down. Bonesaw gurgles as the keen edge parts his flesh, splitting him from ear to ear in a gruesome spray. Blood spurts, painting the Scythe's face and chest.

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