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“Now I do feel a little badly about this,” he says conversationally, gesturing with the knife. “You seem like a sweet gal, but . . . fish gotta swim.” He shrugs.
You can’t stop staring at the weapon in his hand. Your heart is still pounding, a sharp thrill yoyoing through your entire body, making you feel hot and cold at the same time.
He waves the knife in your face. “Well, aren’t you going to scream?”
The blood is rushing away from your head. And it seems to be gathering somewhere decidedly south of your belly.
“Hm,” he says with a small frown. He leans in, sniffing the air around you a little, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Excitement,” he pronounces finally, like testing out a word in a new language. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
He closes in on you, pressing the blade against your bare throat.
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or: the Corinthian's latest victim isn't quite what he expected. He's not into it . . . until he is.
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Bookmark Notes:
Again, not my scene with the blood and the knives, but still really good. Author did a great job writing the not-technically-Southern bastard. All the lines felt like Corinthian lines and all the Corinthian things felt like Corinthian things. Mhm mhm