Page 53 of Hunting Gianna

Knox reaches into his jacket and pulls out a hunting knife. The blade catches the moonlight, throwing silver reflections across Brad's terrified face. Knox holds it out to me, handle first.

"Your choice, little bird," he says softly. "Should he live or die?"

I stare at the knife, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. This is it—the moment where I decide who I really am.

The age old question… who am I and who do I want to be?

Brad's eyes lock with mine, pleading, wet with tears and snot and blood. "Please," he whispers. "Gianna, please."

I reach for the knife, my hand steadier than I expected. The handle is warm from Knox's grip, the blade perfectly balanced in my palm. Power surges through me, and a little flutter beats in my chest.

Time stretches as I stand there, poised between what I was and what I might become.

Brad's eyes follow the blade as I test its edge with my thumb, drawing a thin line of blood that wells up black in the moonlight. Behind his split lips, his teeth chatter with fear, and I realize I've never seen him afraid before. He was always so goddamn confident—so certain of his right to take whatever he wanted from me. Not anymore. Not ever again.

"Gianna, baby, think about what you're doing," Brad wheezes through bloodied teeth. "This isn't you. You're not violent. You're sweet and kind—that's why I loved you."

A memory flashes through me: standing in the bathroom of our apartment, pressing a cold washcloth to my cheekbone where his ring had caught the skin. He'd been drinking, angry that I'd worn a dress he thought was too revealing to a friend's birthday dinner. The next morning he'd brought me flowers, told me he was sorry, that he just loved me so much it made him crazy sometimes.

I crouch down, bringing the knife close to his face. "You never loved me. You loved owning me."

Knox shifts his weight behind Brad, keeping him pinned but giving me room to work. The mask reveals nothing, but I can feel his eyes on me, patient and curious.

"That's not true," Brad stammers, a tremor running through his body. "We had something special. I know I made mistakes—"

"Mistakes?" The word tastes like acid. "You called them learning opportunities, remember? Like when you made me watch you fuck that stewardess in our bed. A learning opportunity to show me how a real woman takes a man."

His eyes widen, darting to Knox and back to me. "I was drunk. I didn't mean those things. People change, Gianna. I've changed."

I laugh, the sound hollow and strange in the quiet forest. "So have I."

He tries once more, voice rising to a desperate pitch. "Please, I have money. I'll give you anything. We can work this out like adults. You don't want to throw your life away over—"

"My life?" I interrupt, pressing the knife tip against his throat, just enough to dimple the skin. "You stole years of it already. Made me believe I was nothing without you. That no one else would ever want me."

"That's not—"

"Shut up." My voice is steady now, cold as steel. "I don't care what you have to say anymore."

I think of all the nights I cried myself to sleep. All the times I apologized for things that weren't my fault. All the ways I made myself smaller just to fit the box he built for me.

The knife moves almost of its own accord, slipping down from his throat to his stomach. I drive it in with a force that surprises even me, the blade piercing fabric and flesh with a sick, wet sound. Brad's eyes bulge, his mouth opening in a perfect O of shock.

Blood blooms across his shirt, dark and spreading like spilled wine. His hands come up instinctively, grabbing at mine where they still grip the knife handle. I twist the blade, feeling tissue tear and resistance give way.

"That's for every time you made me feel worthless," I whisper, my face inches from his.

He tries to speak, but only a wet gurgle escapes. Blood bubbles at the corners of his mouth, trickling down his chin in thick rivulets. His eyes are wild, disbelieving, locked on mine as if trying to understand how this could possibly be happening to him.

I pull the knife out and stab again, higher this time, under his ribs. His body jerks, hands clawing weakly at my arms. I barelyfeel the scratches. All I feel is a strange, floating sensation, as if I'm watching myself from somewhere far away and very close at the same time.

Knox releases his hold, letting Brad slump to the ground. The captain of the ship, master of his domain, reduced to a twitching heap of meat on the forest floor. I kneel beside him, watching with detached fascination as his breathing grows ragged, then shallow, then stops altogether. His eyes stare upward, reflecting pinpricks of starlight, seeing nothing.

"He's gone," I say, my voice oddly calm.

Knox kneels beside me, his mask tilted as if in question. "And how does it feel?"

I consider this, running my fingers through the blood pooling on Brad's shirt. It's warm and slick, already cooling in the night air. "Right," I answer, surprised by my own certainty. "Like fixing something that was broken for too long."

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