Page 100 of Hunting Pretty

“I’ve never watched her from outside her window, you freak.” Cormac shook glass out of his hair and fixed up the wayward strands in a mirror the egomaniac kept on his desk.

He was lying.

The only thing I hated more than entitled rich pricks were entitled rich pricks wholiedto me.

I gripped the arms of the chair till my fingers hurt. “Stay away from Ava.”

Cormac cocked his head to the side and clicked his tongue. “Your possessiveness isn’t going to keep her. I give it two months before she’s bored with you.”

Hedidn’t stand a chance. The vintage fountain pen ondisplay was in my fist before he could even register what was going on.

I stabbed it through the back of his hand, pinning him to the desk.

I saw the shock register on his face first, a moment of disbelief before the pain hit. His eyes widened, mouth opening slightly as his brain tried to catch up with what had just happened.

Then he began to scream as he stared at the gruesome sight with white-rimmed pupils, blood pooling with black ink, dribbling out of his pale hand onto the moss-green leather desktop.

His other hand instinctively went to the wound, pressing against it like he could somehow stop the bleeding with sheer willpower.

“The next time I see you anywhere near Ava,” I said, pointing a finger into his face, “it goes through your heart. You understand?”

He yanked out the pen with his free hand and screamed some more as he gripped his bleeding hand, the color draining from his face.

The fucker wasn’t listening to me.

I would make him listen.

I grabbed his collar and yanked him over the executive desk. He slammed down onto the floor like a rag doll.

I pinned him with a knee against his throat and flicked out one of the many knives I kept on my person.

This one was short, thin, and wicked sharp.

I’d named her Arya Stark.

Haha. Get it?

I brandished Arya in his face, loving the way the soft lighting made her glint.

“Do. You. Understand?” I said again.

See, I gave him a second chance to answer me. He could hardly complain that I was being impulsive.

His body thrashed against me, but the only sounds that came from him was that annoying high-pitched screaming.

“Let me make you understand.”

There was nothing he could do to stop me as I began to carve out a specific piece of him.

His body thrashed and bucked on the floor, his legs flailing, kicking the chair I’d sat in across the room.

But I had him pinned.

His lips grew bloodless and he stopped struggling as he passed out.

Finally. A little peace and quiet while I worked.

I leaned over him like a surgeon and I worked Arya to the bone. Attachments snapped. Blood splattered my cheek in hot, wet droplets.

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