Page 50 of Buried in Blood
He doesn’t answer. Not with words.
But his breathing is steady. Measured. That’s his tell—he’s planning. Always planning.
I smile.
“I want you to know something,” I murmur, pressing the blade lightly against his cheek. “This isn’t about information. Not really. It’s about principle. You came into my world. You crawled through my tunnels. You think I will give up what’s mine.”
His jaw tenses, but he stays silent.
The tip of the blade slides downward, slow and shallow, tracing a line along his jaw. Just enough to sting.
He flinches—barely—but I see it.
“See, most people break when they think no one is coming for them. But you?” I lean in closer. “You break knowing theyare.That’s what’s fun about you. You’ll fight until your last breath because you think someone’s on their way. But they’re not fast enough, Dante. And you’re not strong enough.”
I rise slowly, blade still in hand, and deliver a swift, sharp kick to his ribs.
He groans—short, strangled—but doesn’t cry out.
Resilient.
“Tell me,” I muse, circling him now. “Did you think you could save her? Harmony? Destiny? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see the way you were watching the Orchard? Plotting behind my back?”
I stop behind him, pressing the flat of the blade to the nape of his neck.
“I know everything. And now, you know what happens to people who think they can outplay me.”
He spits blood onto the floor, head tilting back just enough to meet my gaze.
“Kill me then.”
I laugh. A deep, amused sound that echoes off the stone.
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.”
I kneel again, brush the blood off his temple like I’m wiping sweat from a child’s brow. He jerks back.
“Brooke’s coming down in a few minutes. I want her to see what failure looks like.”
Hedoesn’t flinch. But his eyes darken.
Good.
Let him stew in it.
I stand, blade dripping red.
Then I walk to the cellar door..
Let the games begin.
* * *
Brooke stands at the top of the stairs like a child caught sneaking candy, her knuckles white around the railing.
I keep the door cracked just wide enough for her to see the shadows stretching downward. She leans slightly, trying to make out what’s below.
I press my hand flat to the wood and look her dead in the eye.
