Page 17 of The Colour of Revenge
The name shoves a blade through my chest.
My entire body goes cold.
I am not her. Not anymore.
I step closer, my breath warm against his ear. “Don’t say that name.”
My voice is low jagged.
“That’s not my name anymore.”
I move behind him, close enough to feel the tremors in his body. Close enough for his scent—sweat, fear, blood—to cling to my skin.
“Don’t worry, Gareth.” My lips curl into a slow, wicked smile. “I’ll make sure you feel every second of this.”
I don’t think.
I move.
The knife sinks into his shoulder.
Hard. Deep. Unforgiving.
He jerks, his back arching against the ropes.
His scream is so loud it drowns out the sound of my pulse hammering in my ears.
I twist the blade. Slow this time.
I feel it tear through muscle, through sinew. Through him.
I exhale, breath shuddering. The sound is intoxicating.
“Funny, isn’t it?” I laugh, breathless. “You’re finally feeling the pain you caused me. Does it hurt?
“Does it feel like you’re dying?”
He can’t answer. His sobs are too loud, too consuming.
I crouch in front of him, tilting my head.
Tears stream down his face. His mouth hangs open, his chest shuddering with each breath. Pathetic. Weak.
Just like I was.
“You know, I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to watch you suffer.”
I smile.
“Turns out, it’s better than I thought.”
His eyes flicker with something.
Guilt? Desperation? Hope?
“I… I’m sorry…” His voice is barely there, thin as a whisper.
Too late.
