Page 54 of Born into Madness
Pointing a finger at them, she works her bottom lip like she always does when she’s thinking and then looks over at me. “Why do you have those?”
“Training,” I say. “It’s good practice.”
“For?”
I don’t bother lying and say, “Killing.”
She slowly walks over to them while I refill Chort’s water dish and then get his supper. I keep an eye on her, watching as she hesitantly reaches out to examine the closest dummy. She runs her hands over the stab wounds I’d given it while I add some cooked steak to Chort’s supper because he’s a picky bastard and he won’t eat it unless it’s to his liking.
When I set the bowl down, he sits and looks up at me, waiting for the okay to eat. As soon as I give it, he buries his head in his food and gets to work. Cyn is still in the corner, walking through the hanging dummies while she examines the damage I’ve done to them. She’s not running. She might if she knew she was locked in here with me with no way to leave. Niki and I set this place up like a fortress. No one can get in, but what most people don’t realize is that they also can’t get out, not unless their thumbprint is in the system, and Cyn’s isn’t, not yet anyway.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she says when I walk over and stand next to her.
I eye the black-clothed dummy in front of us. “I need to replace them soon.” My fingers toy with the frayed edges of the hoodie I’d put on it. The fabric is torn in many places, leaving large, gaping holes from all the stabs I’ve given it. “This one’s going to be falling apart soon.”
Cyn’s green eyes are more curious than frightened when she asks, “Do you go through a lot of them?”
“I practice a lot,” I tell her.
I’m expecting her to either ask for more information or drop it, but she surprises me by holding out her hand and asking, “Can I try?”
My cock twitches in my pants, waking up again at the thought of Cyn holding one of my knives.
“You want to stab a dummy?” I ask, wanting to make sure I’m understanding her correctly.
She gives me one of her big smiles, sending my dick from semi-hard to full-on hard in seconds.
“Is that okay?”
Slipping my hand under my shirt, I wrap my fingers around the handle of my favorite knife and slowly slide it out. Her eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s not the biggest one I use, but it’s not small. The all-black combat knife is seven inches long with a serrated blade that can easily cut through muscle and sinew. I’ve used it to torture and kill more people than Cyn would ever want to know about. She’s quiet as she runs her eyes over it, probably remembering the night she saw me use it to end three men.
She very hesitantly reaches her hand out, but before she can touch it, I pull it back and look down at her. “I keep them very sharp. This could easily slice your finger off.”
Her cheeks pale at that, but she doesn’t back away. When it’s clear she still wants to do this, I carefully hold the handle out, sharing my knife with her. I’ve always been very protective of my weapons. They feel like a part of me, a very important, integral part of who I am, and that’s why it’s so easy to share it with her. Her small hand grips the handle, and I nearly groan at the image of her holding it.
“That’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, and then I feel the corner of my mouth lift up. “A new kink.”
She grins and then faces the dummy, looking very much like she has no idea what to do.
“Remember what I taught you,krovinka.”
“That knife is a lot smaller,” she reminds me. “And now I’m a little freaked out that I’m going to accidentally chop my fingers off.”
Stepping closer, I wrap my hand around hers. “I would never let that happen.” I stand behind her and lower down so I can bring my mouth to her ear. I feel the shiver she gives when I let my teeth graze her earlobe. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I guide her arm into position, waiting until I feel her relax and relinquish control before quickly stabbing forward, sinking the blade deep into the dummy’s stomach. She lets out a surprised yelp when I pull it out and do it again. Resting my hand on her stomach, I keep her pressed tightly against me, letting her feel how hard this is making me as we sink the blade in deep one last time.
“No wonder you have so many muscles,” she says, turning her head so she can see me better. “This takes a lot of strength.” Our hands are still holding the handle, the blade is still deeply embedded in the dummy, and the air around us is charged with a sexual tension that neither one of us can ignore.
“I train a lot,” I tell her. “It’s how I spend most of my evenings.”
“Show me.”
With our bodies still pressed together, I look down at her and ask, “You want to see how I train?”
She nods her head. “I do, yeah.”
