Page 84 of In Her Blood
“You fucking cu—”
Otto slammed his hand up into Grisha’s jaw, silencing him and possibly forcing the bastard to bite himself.Hopefullyforcing the bastard to bite himself.
Lina held her smile. “You may have missed the time Otto decided not to tolerate that language anymore. I’d be more careful if I were you.” Then she reached out, pinched Grisha’s lips, and pulled them as far forward as the skin would allow. “Now,” she said as she brought the sharp edge of the knife to the corner of Grisha’s lips, “which would be more effective, I wonder? Should I saw…?”
Otto barely held his composure as he watched her cut into Grisha. He knew she was deliberately exaggerating her behavior in mimicry to Grisha’s attitude toward her, and normally everything about that would piss him off. But the way sheactually sawed into Grisha’s mouth as she spoke, the way she held herself steady and never showed a flicker of discomfort as the blood poured free or when Grisha’s force-muted cries carried through, was a whole new side of her. She’d found her resolve was determined to prove she could see it all through, probably to herself more than any of the men in that room.
The last thing the scene playing out practically in his lap should have been was arousing, but fuck if this side of Lina didn’t work for him. Not that he’d found one yet that didn’t.
“Or slash?” The blood-slicked knife in her hand swept sharply the rest of the way through the lips she was probably struggling to keep hold of, slicing them clean off Grisha’s face. “Whoops.”
Otto moved his hand from beneath Grisha’s jaw in an attempt to maintain a sturdier grip, and perhaps avoid too much of the bastard’s blood. On principle.
Lina rocked to her feet, glanced at the limp flesh pinched between her fingers, and made a gagging face similar to when she inadvertently consumed a food she hated. “Ew.” She flicked the bloodied flesh away, causing a couple of men to shuffle sideways to avoid also making contact.
Mikey burst into laughter loud enough to rival Grisha’s shameless wailing.
Otto looked over, then glanced to the other De Salvos and noted brief expressions of surprise on their faces, too. Which was mildly reassuring, because he hadn’t read Mikey as the ‘bursts of loud laughter’ type.
“Fuck, sorry,” Mikey said, waving a hand as he held the other over his stomach.
“Yeah,” Romeo said, grinning, “you two are definitely related.”
Lina looked between them. “I don’t understand.”
Romeo tilted his head. “Mikey’s our knife guy. He’s the only other one I’ve seen skin a fucker alive on a whim.”
Lina’s cheeks burned red and she looked down at the knife somehow still in her hand, despite all the blood coating her grip. “When you say it like that, I feel kind of awkward. I just wanted to cut his stupid sneer off.”
Otto had to bite down on his own grin. He did remember Lina saying something like that before the shooting started.
“He won’t be conscious much longer,” Dante said. “Did you want him alive when he dies, or to have him suffer more first?”
She glanced back to Grisha, who’d dropped his head and was breathing hard, as if trying to breathe through the pain. No one else made a sound until she said, “I just want him to die painfully. It’s what he deserves for what he’s done.”
Dante rested a hand on her shoulder. “May I?”
Lina nodded. “If you don’t mind if I take notes.”
Both Romeo and Mikey snickered.
Dante shook his head. “You’ll learn your own way in time. Learning in general first is smart, so by all means, pay attention.” Then he stepped forward and held out one hand. “Matches.”
Matches?
Lina’s expression mirrored Otto’s confusion, but they both watched as another of Dante’s men rushed up and pulled a narrow box from the pocket of his cargo pants. Ottorecognized it easily as a box of long-stemmed matches, and he was just close enough to read what felt like an ominous word on the label before Dante slid one free.
As Dante struck the match, the room seemed to go uncomfortably silent.
“Hold his head up for me, Otto,” Dante instructed.
Otto complied, noting Grisha’s attempt at resistance was significantly weaker.
“Now, Grisha,” Dante said as he held the match out so the flickering orange-red flame hovered between them. “Back home, I would take my time and burn you from the outside. But I didn’t bring my usual torches, so”— he rotated the match— “I’ll be getting creative. And unfortunately for you, you’ve done harm to my family.”
Otto felt a strange flicker of discomfort as Dante reached forward, despite knowing he wasn’t Dante’s target.
With the box under his arm, Dante pinched Grisha’s nose tight and held while Grisha attempted—despite Otto’s hold—to wrench his head free. But, inevitably, Grisha’s bleeding maw opened and he gasped wetly for air.
