Page 22 of Executing Malice
His hold around my center tightens with a subtle warning. “You do it, or I will. Keep in mind, I don’t have any spare clothes for you to put on afterwards.”
His implication is unmistakable — obey and take my clothes off willingly. Quietly. And he won’t rip them off, leaving me to go home naked.
It does register that I should fight. That I shouldn’t simply accept the fate he’s pressing into my jugular. Reed has taught me enough self-defense that I can at least immobilize him enough to run.
But his hold is so steady on my knife. His heart is unwavering, beating against my shoulder blade. He is unfazed and too calm. He wouldn’t think twice about cutting me open.
“I’m going to kill you,” I promise with what little resolve I have lodged in my soul.
His nose grazes the curve of my jaw with an almost endearing nudge. “I would expect nothing less.”
Carefully, with a slowness that feels like I’m moving through molasses, I unhook the first button on my blouse. Thenthe next. Somehow, I get all the way to where my top is tucked into the waistband of my skirt before the first tear slips.
I’m scared.
Without question. There is no mistaking the fear washing through my veins. But the slip of weakness has nothing to do with that. Beneath the tremors is fury. Blinding, murderous rage. I’m crying out of sheer frustration that I can’t drive my knife into his fucking eye. I want to cut his dick off. The one pressing with excitement into my lower back.
The blade never wavers, never even lifts as I slip out of every article. Each one is dropped to the cold cement pressing flat and merciless beneath my bare feet until I am left exposed. Vulnerable to the monster pulling me closer. But even with the warmth of his body, the basement is meant for storing meat. It’s designed to maintain a certain temperature, a chill to keep the product from spoiling. My nipples could cut glass. They are sharp, painful points hardening under the cruelty. Goosebumps rise across my skin, making it prickle and sending a shiver through me that I have to control.
“Good girl,” he breathes with husky reverence.
I stare straight ahead at the endless darkness pressing into my eyeballs. “Fuck you.”
His warm chuckle vibrates along my spine. “Not yet.”
Refusing to acknowledge him any further, I keep my lips firmly sealed. My eyes focused. I stand rigid in the enclosure of his arms.
I’m too disoriented when he nudges me forward. I’ve never been in the butcher shop basement before. I have no idea where he’s taking me, but it’s deeper into the darkness.
We get about five feet before I step into something solid and violently cold.
“Reach down and cuff your wrist.”
CHAPTER SIX
LEILA
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Real cuffs with weighted steel loops snap around flesh and bone. The grind of teeth sliding into place rips through the silence, stifling the gasp I’m not quick enough to swallow.
It’s a table for slaughter. A solid sheet of solid metal, cold and sterile, and the final place for dead things. It makes me think of a mortuary table as he shoves me up, forces every inch of naked flesh to unfold and settle into place on the counter.
“Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up,” he promises, him and his knife slipping away long enough to capture my ankle and drag my leg over the lip.
A second cuff snaps into place, fastening me to the table leg. He repeats the motions with my other side, locking me into place in the most open and obscene position. Even in the dark, I know how I would look with my limbs pulled over the edges and bound to the table bolted to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I demand, stupidly, more confident now that the knife is no longer threatening to kill me.
“Giving you your next gift.”
I frown in the direction of his silhouette, the blurry outline of him moving around the table with the ease of someone unaffected by the darkness.
“So, you’re the one leaving that creepy shit,” I snap.
He pauses. His movements halt and I feel the weight of his gaze leveled on my face.
“Creepy? That’s hurtful.”
