Page 6 of Dark Reasons

That cockiness is going to behismistake.

Bracing my hands on the bed I throw myself forward, reaching for the knife in his grip. Once I get it, I'll have a way to defend myself.

He shifts so suddenly that I fall forward into the air, grabbing at nothing, the carpet coming toward me at nose-breaking speed. "Oof!" I grunt from the impact of his arm around my waist, throwing me back onto the bed with enough force the springs jostle, the headboard smacking the wall. Anyone in the room on the other side would hear the sound.

His weight settles on me, one knee on either side, a hand on my throat. It's a firm, relentless grip, his fingers creating a cage that doesn't choke but is impossible to escape from. I'm breathing rapidly, my throat pressing again and again into his palm like a trapped bird. I can't read the look in his narrowed eyes. Anger? Intrigue?

"You," he whispers darkly, "are too confident in yourself." He turns the knife in the air by his ear, never breaking eye contact. "Did you think if you took this, you'd be able to use it on me?"

"Yes," I rattle.

He blinks. A faint smirk grows across his lips. "You couldn't even pull the trigger on someone you hate."

"I could have," I argue. "You got in the way."

"You got inmyway," he growls. Tension crinkles his eyebrows. He bends closer, his chest brushing mine; his scent invades me, choking me more than the hand on my throat. It's almonds and smoke and extremely pleasant. "This world,my world,isn't a place for girls who dress up like cartoon characters."

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid," I croak.

"You're naive. And you're not murdering anyone."

"I will... next time."

His hand loosens on my neck. "Next time? There is nonext time."

"Why, because you're going to kill me on this bed?" My boldness has been brought out by him mocking me. I'm pissed at myself for hesitating to shoot, I don't need this random stranger rubbing my nose in it. "Fine. Do it." I grab his wrist, forcing his hand tight across my throat. "You're right, you're in charge here. I can't get away. Do whatever you like with me."

The way his eyes widen has my heart jumping.

Did I shock him by egging him on? Is that the key to surviving here?

Praying for a way out of this, I dig my nails into his skin. "You've gone all quiet," I murmur, making myself smile. My guardian angel loves me because my lips don't twitch one bit. "Maybe you're the one who can'tdo it."

He studies me for a long minute. His hand loosens; I'm thrilling with excitement, but instead of letting go, he wraps his fingers in my pink hair, tugging me upwards. I cringe, but he has enough of my hair by the base that it doesn't hurt—much. "Killing you here would make things too messy for me. I prefer to be treated like a ghost, not a serial killer."

"Ah!" I wince as he guides me off the bed by my hair. "What are you doing?"

"Getting out of here. You're coming with me."

"Wait—wait wait. Out the window? Are you joking?"

He lets go of my hair and grabs my wrist, swiping the curtains out of the way of the wide open window. He positions one of his shoes on the ledge. "It's not that high. The fire escape will insure we don't break any bones."

Craning my neck I see "not that high" is still twelve feet. The wind cools across the sweat drying on my face; I swallow uneasily. "This is a bad idea."

"No, that would be going into the hallway. Did you forget about the cameras I mentioned?"

A prickle goes up my spine at the reminder. I'd worn a costume to help disguise me, I hope it's enough to make the footage useless. "Alright, lead the way."

"So you can turn around and run out the door the second I can't grab you? No, you go first." He starts to force me out the window. I grunt, resisting because I don't like the way the fire escape looks.

"Easy, easy!" I argue, clinging to the window frame for dear life. "Just give me a second to get myself together!"

"Heights or prison, it's not a hard choice."

He shoves me again—I grip harder. "Why are you worried about me getting arrested?" I hiss, digging my right heel into the wall, making a wedge. There's a fleck of blood on my boot. Sanford's blood.

Of course!

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