Page 78 of The Night Shift
It’s okay. She’s just angry. People say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment that they regret later, and this is obviously one of those moments. It stings, but I’ll get over it. For now, I have to do whatever it takes to get inside her bedroom.
“What thehellis that?!” I point to a spot behind her.
Startled, Holly whips around only to find nothing there. Just the empty hallway bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light.
I use the split second of distraction and make a direct beeline for her bedroom where the air hangs heavy with the scent of Holly’s lavender shampoo.
“Theo!” she roars, her voice echoing through the hallway and runs after me. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” She bursts into the room, face flushed and eyes spitting fire. She smacks my arm hard. “I told you not to —”
“Shush. Look.” I grab her jaw and turn her head towards the bed. The knife and meat cleaver are still laid out on her mattress.
Holly pushes past me and picks up the knife. Her fingers trace the smooth lines of the handle, the curve of the blade. “This is a kitchen knife,” she murmurs, turning the blade over in her hand. “Stainless steel, serrated edge, good for slicing bread.”
I can’t help myself. “Among other things.”
She ignores my quip and goes on admiring the blade in her hand. There's a morbid appreciation in her touch, a glint in her eyes that mirrors the flash of steel. Something heavy turns in my chest. I can’t stop staring. I’m mesmerized by the way she’s looking at that knife. Like it’s magic. Like it’s an extension of herself. She’s looking at it how I look at her.
She runs her thumb along the serrated edge, a slow, almost sensual caress. My cock, rock-hard, strains painfully against my pants. I'm powerless. I could watch Holly play with that knife for hours on end and never get bored. Her pretty little finger runs along the edge of the blade. Up and down. Up and down. My mouth parts slightly and I resist the need to close my hand over hers and watch the flame in her eyes soften a little. Maybe then I’d be in a position to demand a kiss. And maybe, she’d be smart enough to comply. Her finger comes to a halt, and she reels it back in.
I look back up.
“There’s no one here,” she says.
“We haven’t checked all the rooms yet.”
Holly doesn’t respond.Instead,she twirls the knife in her hand,her gaze burning into my face.She steps closer, slowly and on purpose, her hips swaying as the knife in her hand dangles loosely. My gaze darts to the shiny metal, then back up to meet her pretty brown eyes. Even if I wanted to move, I can’t. I’m paralyzed. Captivated by the storm brewing within her eyes.
And then, she’s on me.
Shoving me hard against her bedroom wall and pressing the knife against my carotid artery.“Why is there no one here, Theo?”
I swallow the burn in my throat, my eyes flicking down to her lips for a split second. “This…feels like a trick question.”
She pushes the edge of the knife with more force, carving a red line on the side of my neck, I’m sure. “Your sarcasm is going to end up killing you one of these days.”
A bead of sweat of trickles down my temple and I blink. “I’m beginning to think violence is just an excuse for you to get your hands all over me.”
The effect is immediate. Holly’s face contorts with rage, eyes flashing like lightning. She chucks the knife on her bed and usesher bare hand to grab my stab wound, her fingers digging into it with a brutal twist. Pain explodes in a blinding white flash.
FUCK!
A strangled cry leaves my mouth.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” she snarls, each word punctuated by a tightening grip on my wound. “First you follow me to that decrepit-ass building. Then you very conveniently get caught seconds before being shot in the face.” Another squeeze. “And then just as I'm about to bash your skull in with the shovel, my phone receives yet another convenient text, bringing us both back here!” Her fingers, still buried deep inside my wound, twist with a final, bone-jarring squeeze, mimicking the pull of a trigger.
My mouth tastes like pennies.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale a searing stab in my chest. A tingle starts behind my ears and moves slowly, teasingly over my scalp.
“Why did you send me that text?” she demands. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
Holly’s fingers scrape inside my wound, and I picture them digging even deeper. The pain, the closeness, the grotesque intimacy of her hands deep in my wound—it’s unbearable and magnetic all at once.
I lean forward, gently touching my forehead against hers, my vision dissolving into a kaleidoscope of pain. “Holly, my phone is in your pocket…” My cock strains painfully against my jeans and I pray to God that Holly keeps her eyes glued to mine. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable with my hard-on. Not in her own home.
She frowns, her lips parting and closing in a small, almost frustrated gesture. It’s adorable. Swallowing visibly, she presses me harder against the wall. “That doesn’t prove anything. Youcould have a burner phone. Or someone on the side doing your fucking bidding.”
My bidding? If it didn’t hurt to laugh, I would cackle.
