Page 3 of The Colour of Revenge
Winslow wheezes, his eyes wide, sweat rolling down his bloated face. "Who… who are you?" His voice shakes, breathless with fear.
Good. I hate when men like him don't appreciate a strong woman.
"You don't remember me?" She tilts her head as ifoffended.
His throat bobs. "N-no."
Her knife presses deeper. A single crimson bead rolls down his neck, pooling against the blade.
"Please," he begs. "I'll do anything."
Her expression doesn't change. "I think that's what I said when I begged you to stop."
Her voice is low. Murderous.
Something stirs in my chest—a sharp, unfamiliar pain I'm not used to feeling.
She's one of his victims.
The realisation hits hard, and suddenly, letting her kill him feelstoo easy.
This man doesn't deserve a quick death.
I step forward, making my presence known. Her shoulders twitch, but she doesn't flinch. Winslow gasps, eyes darting between us.
"Princess," I murmur, my voice smooth. "I think you need a lesson in playing with your food."
She looks between us, her breath catching. I see it—the flicker of fear as she tries to determine who the bigger threat is.
"Who are you?"
"Nate," I say, tilting my head and holding her gaze. “Or, if you're my parents, then it's Nathaniel, but please—" I drag out the 'ea' for dramatic effect, “—donotcall me Nathaniel."
She studies me for a moment, trying to assess me, size me up. I imagine my presence has thrown her and now she’s thinking something like:
“Who is this incredibly tall, handsome stranger with a penchant for murder and a massive—”
Fine, you’re right, my height isn’t that incredible.
"So," I say, tilting my head toward Winslow, who's still squirming like the worm he is, "are we flipping a coin, playing rock-paper-scissors, or going full-on deathmatch for this one? Because, fair warning, I fight dirty."
She arches her brow. "What kind of psychopath negotiates over a kill like it's the last slice of pizza?"
"The efficient kind." I smirk. "I mean, I'm guessing you didn't come here for a three-way."
Her eyes flash with something unreadable. Then she exhales sharply and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh my god."
"What?" I ask innocently, jutting out my bottom lip into a pout and widening my eyes.
"What are youdoinghere, Nate?"
I gesture toward Winslow as if the answer is obvious. "Same thing as you." I slowly step closer, nodding at the man beneath her. "Though, let's be honest—I'd do it with far more pizazz."
She cocks her head, intrigued despite herself. "What do you suggest?"
I close the distance; my boots silent on the rotting floorboards. The air between us thickens. Winslow whimpers beneath her, but neither of us pays him any mind. His fate is sealed.
She'swhat interests me now.
