Page 23 of Sardonic Burn

She’s shocked, and I lower my gun. Her hand falls down, but she’s still clutching onto the dagger tightly, wanting to use it again.

I see it in her eyes.

The need to shed blood. The desire to have my head and keep it as a souvenir.

Noelle’s heart all but jumps out of her chest. I can see the organ’s outline on her shirt and hear the unsteady beating clearly. Her brows narrow at me, anger flashing behind the stoic expression.

We’re all alone in a dark room. I squeeze her delicate throat, and she doesn’t struggle against the hold. Instead, it’s as if she’s welcoming it. It’s fueling her hatred and rage, and I can see her cheeks starting to flush in humiliation.

Noelle looks so fucking pretty when she’s humiliated.

“I’ll give you five seconds to remove your filthy hands from my neck.”

Her voice is hoarse, and she barely speaks coherently. I loosen my grip but firmly press my fingers on the side of her neck. That seems to piss her off more as she raises the hand holding the dagger and without even blinking, she stabs my shoulder.

Pain shoots through my left arm, but I don’t show it. She hates it even more that I’m silent. She pulls out the blade violently, and blood splashes her. It’s mainly on my arm and her shirt, but a few droplets are on her face. She doesn’t even flinch as the warm liquid hits her face.

“Let me go, motherfucker.”

Her harsh words barely reach me. Instead of listening to her ridiculous demand, I bend down and lick the blood that is smeared on her face.

Noelle freezes in place. My tongue darts along her jaw, holding eye contact. She looks like a deer in headlights as I lick the ichor off her bare face. She tastes as she looks: tempting, alluring, and toxic.

Poor Noelle looks like she’s about to cry, and the exhilarating feeling doesn’t leave my body, not until I’m done with terrorizing her. Her body starts to tremble, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or anger. Whichever it is, I’m here for it.

She should fucking fear me.

Choking her is the least of the things I can do to her. She should be fucking petrified of meeting my gaze again. And by the looks of it, she is.

Noelle almost cries.

Almost.

And I will give up everything just to see her tear-stained face at least once before I kill her.

But it doesn’t happen.

Her palm flies to my mouth, and she pushes my head, turning hers to the side and narrowing her eyes. Her cold handagainst my burning skin brings me a sensation I can’t and don’t want to name.

I pause and finally hear what she seems to be hearing.

It’s oddly silent, but the atmosphere is strange. It takes me less than five seconds to understand that we aren’t alone. That’s when footsteps can be heard, struggling to walk silently on the thick snow outside.

I let go of her throat, and she nods at me once. She’s silent and quick to reach the broken door and hide behind the wall. She’s listening intently, trying to figure out how many of them are coming.

There are at least eight different sets of footsteps coming our way. If they’re attacking the front, they’re attacking the back too, so we can’t count on Ray and Henrick for help.

Not once in a million years would I have thought I’d be fighting alongside a Campbell, much less this lunatic bitch.

But she’s excited. She’s leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. I try not to disturb her and take the other wall, prepared to shoot. I only brought the clip inside of the gun, so I’m praying she can handle a few of them on her own.

More than anything, I want to see Noelle six feet under.

However, it has to be me who takes her life.

Noelle’s life is mine. Anyone who dares to kill her before me will meet their unfortunate end at my hand. She’s mine to torture and kill. I won’t let anyone else get in between us like that.

Before the first man even steps inside, Noelle springs to action. She grabs his hand as he’s taking a step in, trying to get inside, and pulls him toward her. She elbows his head and then grins like a maniac.

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