Page 124 of Only for Him

I step back, thoughts warring for supremacy.

Roman is there. Always there. I hit his chest and his arms wrap around me from behind. I let his heat pull me into clarity. He’s so strong, and he touches me like I’m strong enough to handle him.

Because I am.

I am.

His hands slide down my arms, fingers slipping over mine until we’re both holding the knife. My breath quickens and my heart thumps in my chest at the intimacy of his touch. It feels like a proposal.

My heart jackhammers. My breath stutters. But I don’t pull away as I inhale the sweet and cloying spice and iron on his skin until I grow dizzy with every breath. My tongue darts out and wets my lips.

“He’ll give you more,” Roman breathes into my ear, his voice thick. “But only if you hurt him.”

His mouth brushes the line of my jaw, words hot and slick against my neck.

I glance at Skinner’s hands. The fingers twitch, mottled with old bruises, faded tattoos and crusted blood. Roman follows my gaze.

He guides my hand, still gripping the knife, positioning the tip of the blade beneath Skinner’s pinky nail.

“Try harder to remember her,” I say, feeling Roman’s hand on mine. It’s firm and gentle as he shows me how to hurt.

Together, we slide the blade beneath the nail.

Skinner screams. A raw, choked noise that echoes against the cinderblock walls.

My stomach lurches, but we don’t stop. Skinner’s howls grow louder, wetter, like he’s drowning in his own spit. The screams are almost musical, and I wonder if this is what Roman channels when he plays piano.

The blood steams between my fingers. It smells like power. We run the blade under Skinner’s fingernails, one after the other, slow and careful.

Skinner is sobbing now, breath hitching. “What do you fucking want from me? Whores aren’tsupposedto be memorable.”

My body stiffens, but Roman’s hand rises to the side of my neck. A grounding squeeze.

“You’re not alone, little viper,” he whispers. My flesh tingles. “I’m right here.”

“The girl youthinkyou remember,” I snarl at Skinner. “You were the one who took her?”

Skinner’s voice is a whine. “No! No! I don’t… I just collect the money, that’s it.”

“If you didn’t take her, who did?” Roman guides my hand again, poising the knife over Skinner’s heart.

He shakes his head, jaw rattling. “I don’t fucking know. Maybe nobody did. Nobody wanted your cunt sister enough to take her.”

The room tilts. Rage floods through me, an erratic pleasure knocking at my ribs:justice-justice-justice-finally-getting-justice.

“I’m going to say her name every time I hurt you,” I whisper. “And I’m going to hurt you until you tell me the truth.”

I say her name six times. We’ve sliced across his entire chest and through both Achille’s tendons, and he’s about to lose an eye when he finally cracks.

“YES! I TOOK HER!” He screams. “I took your precious goddamn sister, okay? Okay? I took her, and I sold her. She was… pricey. But I wasn’t the only one, I just do what they tell me!”

Roman’s lips are right against my ear now, so close I feel the vibration when he whispers. “Now you know.”

But Skinner is still talking, voice ragged. “They take dozens every year, maybe more. You can’t stop it. You can’t do shit to stop it.”

“Who arethey?” I ask, pushing the knife deeper into the corner of his eye.

I notice that Roman’s hand isn’t guiding mine anymore, and realize I don’t know when he let go. I don’t know which of the wounds on Skinner’s body are inflicted by us and which are inflicted by me.