Page 65 of Perilous

His right hand grips the knife tight. He slowly stands up.

I kick my feet against the bed and sit up the best I can. My hands are tied in front of my body. The knife makes me incredibly uneasy. Unless Peri is going to untie me. If so, then why did he tie me up in the first place?

“Peri,” I whisper. “What…”

He places the knife against my right cheek. Even with just the tiniest bit of pressure I feel my skin open. That quick sting like a paper cut.

He’s… cut me…

He takes the knife away from my cheek and bends forward, placing his lips to my cheek. Kissing where he’s cut me. My body shivers with fear and warms up with desire. His mouth moves to my right ear.

“It’s time to talk, doll. It’s time to figure this all out. If you lie to me, I’ll kill you. If you fuck around, I’ll torture you. I promise though, at the end of this, there’s something waiting. I’m going to keep you alive. I’m going to keep you safe. But only if you tell the truth.”

“I’ve never lied to you once, Peri. I have no reason to lie.”

“Then why the fuck are you wanted dead?”

His voice growls and I jump.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“That feels like a lie.”

“It’s not,” I say. “I swear on my life. I’ve told you everything. I met up with my father to get his permission to leave. I was done with this place, Peri. Done withSA. Once and for all.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I hate it here. I told you that. I hate being in my father’s shadow. Okay?”

“It’s just you and your father?”

Now it feels like Peri has stabbed me in the heart. My eyes fill with tears.

Fuck me. I hate this fucking subject.

“Now we’re onto something, aren’t we?” Peri asks.

I look at his face. His sexy yet mangled face. He was drugged, kidnapped, and had the shit beat out of him because of me. Because he hasn’t killed me yet.

And do I really have the first fucking clue as to why anyone would want me dead? I don’t. I really, honestly don’t.

“I need to know,” Peri says.

“My mother… is dead.”

I fucking hate saying that.

I hate it!

“Dead,” Peri whispers.

“Yes, Peri. Dead. As in not alive.”

“When did it happen?”

“When I was young. Just before my twelfth birthday. Okay?”

He lowers the knife to my wrists. He grabs my hands and I gasp as the blade cuts near skin, but not touching skin. Peri frees me. My wrists are red and sore. I drop my hands to the bed.

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