Page 34 of The Sea Witch's Son

“Did you know it takes seven minutes for the average person to bleed out from a cut to their femoral artery?” Sliding the razor along her skin, I nudge it deep enough to sting, “I’ve always wondered what that would look like.”

She tries to slip away but I tighten my hold.

“If the cut is deep enough, the injury will exsanguinate in two to four minutes. I think we can beat that record, don’t you?”

“I’mshakingwith fear.” Freya rolls her eyes, “Your point has been made. I’ll be on my way.”

I stroke her thigh with my blade, “I am not sure my point has been made. You played with my favourite toy.”

“I was just having a little fun with her.”

“By inviting her to a party and making a point to come sit on my lap?” I shake my head with a sigh, “You haven’t changed one bit over the years.”

“Oh, please. You were the one who instigated the kiss.”

“I can do what I want with my little saint.” I smile, leaning back against the couch, “You, on the other hand, have no business manipulating her. It makes me quite...”

I pause, thinking about the right word.

“Displeased.”

I jam the razor deep into her flesh and Freya screams. Blood starts gushing down my hand and I shove her off my lap before it can stain my dress pants.

“Seven minutes, Clementon. Better make them count.”

I step over her writhing body and grab a napkin from the table. Wiping my hands clean of her blood, I pick up a bottle marked with Gaston’s ridiculous label.

The man is comically vain, but he does have a good taste in wine.

Stealing the bottle and a couple of glasses, I do a quick scan of the room and mark Melody’s absence. Heaving a sigh, I makemy way back into the hall, bypassing a couple snorting lines ofDragon Fireoff the tusk of an extinct species.

The sharp sound of Calista’s laugh captures my attention. Rounding the staircase, I find her unplugging the phone hooked up to the speaker set.

“I was wondering when Elvis Presley would take over the party.”

Calista grins, her green eyes looking particularly fierce this evening. An impossibly small halter top covers her modest chest while leather pants sit just below the wing of her tattoo.

“The original bad boy and king of rock and roll. Who am I to deny such a devastating voice?”

“You just like his dark hair.”

“Of course I do.” She purses her lips, “Where did all the dark-haired bad boys go? This town is run by too many blondes.”

A snicker echoes from the corner, “Marlin barely qualifies as blonde.”

“Nor would I call myself a bad boy. Such an undignified title.” I grimace, turning to face the third party, “Long time no see, Tahira.”

The daughter of the world's most powerful oil tycoon steps out of the shadows. Her belly button piercing glitters under the crop top she’s wearing, the stud a perfect match for the gemstone in her nose.

“Not long enough. Father still resents your investments in Canadian oil fields.” Dark eyes assess me from beneath heavy layers of kohl.

“I saw a business opportunity and I took it. Surely, Jaafar would understand that.”

“Understand, yes. Forgive... not so likely.” Tahira smiles, walking over to slide a hand around Calista’s waist.

“Some things don’t change.”

“And some things do. I didn’t think you attended informal gatherings.”

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