I watch in horror as she steps toward Elle, tilting her head like she’s admiring a piece of artwork.
She smiles.
Then, without hesitation, she lifts the knife and drags the blade across Elle’s cheek. Slicing.
Elle screams—a wet, gurgling sound—but Indigo doesn’t even flinch. She just watches, tilting her head the other way, as if considering her work.
"You're just not a very nice girl, Elle," Indigo purrs.
Elle chokes on a sob. "Please," she gurgles.
Indigo clicks her tongue. "Please? Please, what?" She taps the knife against her chin, fake thoughtful. "Please stop? Please let you go? Please don’t punish you for what you did?"
Her smile fades.
"You hurt Malik."
Elle trembles violently, barely holding on to consciousness.
"You made him doubt himself. Doubt his appeal, his self-worth."
Indigo's voice is soft, sweet. But her hand is merciless. She presses the blade to the other side of Elle’s face and slices again, widening her mouth into a grotesque, gaping grin.
My stomach lurches. What the fuck?
This isn’t Indigo. This isn’t my girl.
This is something else. Someone else.
Elle sobs, her body convulsing against the ropes. Indigo just steps back, admiring her work.
"Tit done. Smile fixed. Hmmm." She taps the knife against her chin again. "What’s next?"
Then she rears back and slams the knife into Elle’s stomach.
"Tummy tucked."
Elle gasps, a wet, shuddering sound. Blood pours from the wound as Indigo twists the knife, her eyes gleaming.
She pulls back, stepping away like a painter assessing her masterpiece.
Then she claps her hands together. "You're stunning."
I swallow back the bile burning my throat. My fingers tremble around the gun.
Then—without warning—Indigo lunges.
She stabs Elle again.
And again.
And again.
Over and over and over, brutal, merciless, her voice rising with each thrust of the knife.
"You think you can fucking hurt him?"
Stab.