Page 245 of Love Me Stalk Me
I shift, my muscles tight, then throw my next punch straight into his gut, knocking the fucking air out of him. The impact travels through his body, making him convulse forward. Evan chokes, staggering, wheezing, his hands clutching at his stomach. His expensive watch glints under the harsh lighting as he tries to protect himself. He barely has time to react before I grab him by the hair, forcing him upright—just to slam his face into my knee.
Blood sprays, a sickening crunch echoing as his nose breaks. Warm droplets spatter across my jeans. He lets out a guttural yell, stumbling back, hands cupped over his face, but I don't let him go down.
Not yet.
I lunge forward, grabbing his collar, and drive him into the wall. The impact shakes the metal shelves, a few cardboard boxes tumbling down around us, spilling their contents across the floor. He groans, trying to push me off, but I slam my forearm into his throat, pressing in just enough to make it hard for him to breathe. His pulse thrums wildly against my skin.
"That's for every time you made her apologize for situations that weren't her fault."
His breath is ragged, eyes bloodshot, but the fucking idiot laughs through the pain.
"You're—" He coughs, spitting red onto my boots. "You're fucking insane."
I grin. A slow, dangerous grin that I can feel stretching my face. “For her, yes.”
I let go.
Let him slide down the wall, coughing, struggling for breath.
And then?
I take a step back—just to give myself room to kick him in the ribs.
The force sends him rolling across the concrete. The dull thud of his body hitting the floor reverberates through the storage room. He groans, curling in on himself, but I don't let him recover. I walk over, grip his shirt, and yank him upright again. The fabric tears slightly under my grip. He sways, barely conscious, dried blood crusting around his nostrils and lips, but I'm not finished.
Not yet.
I slam my fist into his stomach, then bring my elbow down into the back of his head, dropping him to his knees. Evan sways, hands hardly keeping him upright. His ragged breathing punctuates the silence.
He knows he's lost.
But I want him to feel it.
Slowly, I reach into my pocket and pull out my knife, flipping it open with a soft metallic click. The blade catches the light, gleaming silver.
Evan's body locks up.
I crouch beside him, pressing the cool edge of the blade against his cheek.
He flinches.
Sweat and blood drip from his face, his whole body trembles.
"Do you know how many men I've killed?" I whisper, my voice calm.
He barely breathes, his chest barely moving beneath his stained shirt.
"How many bodies I've put in the ground?" I press the blade just enough to break the skin. A single thin line of red beads down his cheek.
"But you?" I murmur, letting the tip trace along his chin, down to his throat, feeling the rapid pulse just beneath the surface. "You'd be the first I'd actually enjoy."
His breath comes in ragged, terrified shudders. The smell of urine suddenly permeates the air as a dark stain spreads across his pants.
I tighten my grip on the knife, about to finish it?—
And then?—
"Cal."
