Page 153 of On Edge

“I knew someone was following me. I should have known it was you.” His voice through the modulator is grating, sending shivers down my spine. “ Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? You’re not exactly subtle, sweetheart.”

The demon mask, the weapon catching the light, his muscled bare chest splattered with blood; he looks like he crawled out of a nightmare. He doesn’t even sound like my Troy. Even more so when he presses a button and the chair tips back with a mechanical whir, and he looms over me, the edge of the blade pressed to the vulnerable column of my throat.

I should be terrified. And I am.

But this isTroy.

The same man who has tasted me in every way possible, who makes my heart skip beats, and my body crave to be used. Despite the terror flooding my veins as he drags the razor over my skin in a slow, deliberate caress, one that makes breathing impossible, a dark heat coils low in my stomach, spilling a shameful sound from my lips.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I-I don’t know.” And that’s the truth.

“Did your father send you?”

“N-no.” I force the word past my racing heart. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“So you came here all alone?”

“Troy, please—” I hate how I sound, breathless, trembling as the razor’s edge kisses my collarbone and then between my breasts.

He makes me look at him; his thumb digs in my jaw, smearing something wet and warm (blood?) across my lip. “Why, little finch?”

I can’t answer. How do I explain what drew me here? It sounds insane, whichever way I say it.

“Maybe you’re not afraid enough.” Slowly, torturously, he moves the razor down my dress, slicing the material apart. Heat smolders between my thighs as he skims the blade lightly over my shivering body, like he knows exactly how it affects me.

“Wait.” I pull against the bonds, but it’s no use.

“Oh, I’m not waiting.”

“W-why did you kill Darrow?”

“You’re asking this now?”

I am. Even though there’s no love lost between Darrow and me. In fact, I disliked him immensely. It felt as though his eyes were always on me when I wasn’t looking, making me uncomfortable. And I’ve heard the rumours, nasty ones, about him. I’d be a fool not to believe them. He deserved to die.

But.

“Please, I have to know.” He stops, and it’s torturous; every nerve is on fire, needingmore, but I force myself to say it. “Why did you do it?”

“You wanted the person who hurt your sister dead, didn’t you?”

“Darrow hurt Nell?”How? When?

Pain flickers across his face. “He admitted it.”

“But you were—” I stop, catching myself. That bit of information is useless now.

“I was what?”

“You were at the factory with my father when she disappeared.”

His eyes, even behind the red contacts, seem to darken. “I was looking for her.”

The jealousy that rips through me is irrational and completely inappropriate given that Nell is dead, there’s literally a corpse ten feet away, and I’m bound to a barber’s chair with garotte wire. Still, I feel it anyway, sharp and undeniable.

“You didn’t find her?”