Page 78 of Cruel Possession

Logan hisses with pain, trying to keep still.

I don’t see what difference it’s going to make, but if he thinks it’ll help him not be in pain, he’s welcome to it.

For now.

I drop my foot. “You should learn to respect those with more power than you. I might be on the outs with my family right now, but I’m still a player in this fucking game, Logan, and you stopped being a useful pawn.”

Tucking the gun into my waistband, I stand and pull a knife from my back pocket, flipping it open.

The blade catches the soft glow of the lamp on the side table, gleaming beneath the dim light.

Logan eyes the blade and me, pulling his injured leg onto the couch and trying to keep the blood from seeping through his fingers.

It was a clean shot. He’s not going to have too much to worry about in terms of healing.

Unless he pisses me off more.

“You know…” I trail the knife along the side of his face, creating a shallow cut in his skin. “My brother had a thing for carving his initials into people. Or branding them. He was a sick fuck. Me? I’m usually not that bad. Although, I think I might make an exception today. I mean, I need to send a message somehow.”

His eyes widen, gaze cutting between me and the blade. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“You’re not in a position to give orders here.” I motion the knife at his chest. “So, where should I write the message? Front or back?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m giving you an option. Which, quite frankly, is more than you deserve.” I pause, the tip of the knife pointed over his heart. “So, pick. Back? Chest?”

“What if I don’t choose?” The words come out as barely more than a squeak.

There’s fear pouring off him in waves, a thin sheen of sweat on his face as he shifts on the couch.

I step closer to him, pressing the knife against his chest hard enough to cut through the fabric, piercing his skin.

He screams as I drag the blade down. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“Stop, stop, stop.”

“I told you to pick. Since you didn’t, it looks like I’m going to choose. Now, hold still. This is going to hurt. A lot.”

He tries to jump up, but I kick him in the bullet wound, switching my grip on the hilt of the knife at the same time to clench it sideways in my hand.

His head spins when I slam my fist into the side of his face, sending him back down to the couch. He stares at the ceiling for a moment.

I take the opportunity to climb on top of him, cutting through his shirt and pulling away the fabric.

With one hand on his neck, fingers digging into the sides of his esophagus, I put the knife to his chest, carving anN.

Logan swallows hard, the scent of urine filling the room.

“Fucking hell. You weren’t supposed to piss yourself.” My nose wrinkles, and I jump away from him, looking down to make sure that nothing’s gotten on me. “Now I’m going to have to call Morgana in early, and I wasn’t done toying with you yet.”

Sweat rolls down his face, and he shifts in the seat, trying to look down at his chest.

I didn’t get far enough into carving out my message to make it worth it, but it feels like he might’ve gotten the message.

I stand in front of him, trading the knife for the gun and keeping it aimed at his head. With my other hand, I grab my phone, sending a message to Morgana.

Logan glowers at me, but his shin is ghostly white. “You’re going to regret this.”