Page 100 of Luciano

“Again,” I said, watching her reposition in front of the dummy.

But this time, she didn’t go for the thigh or arm like before.

She went for the throat.

She slashed at it fast, viciously. The rubber split like wet paper, the blood pack bursting in a sticky red arc that splattered her collarbone.

She didn’t even blink.

Didn’t step back, either.

She leaned in, eyes fixed on the gash she made like she was studying it for later—the angle, the pressure.

“Ava,” I said.

No response.

“Ava.”

Still nothing.

She pressed two fingers to the dummy’s neck, right where the carotid would pulse beneath human skin.

“Ava,” I said again, voice louder.

Finally, she turned, blinking like she’d just woken from a dream. “Hmm?”

“You keep going for the throat,” I said, stepping closer. “Why?”

She smiled.

“Because it’s the most efficient way to do harm,” she said. “You said so yourself.”

True. But there was something in her voice—something that made my gut tighten.

“You’re picturing someone when you’re doing that.” My voice was even. “Who is it?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she closed the distance between us. Her fingertips slid under my shirt.

Eyes hooded. Lips parted.

Her body collided with mine as her hands curled into my collar, yanking me down to her height. She shover her tongue in my mouth.

My hands shot to her waist. She tasted like adrenaline and copper. Her tongue slid against mine and I groaned—low, guttural—some primitive sound I didn’t recognize as mine.

The knife she'd been using hit the floor with a clatter.

She didn’t notice.

With my help, she climbed me, wrapping her legs around my waist.

Palms full of ass, I steadied her as her hips rolled against my dick. I washard and aching, wondering if I’d ever get used to the feeling she brought on.

She felt like sin and salvation.

Redemption and reckoning.

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