Page 6 of The Colour of Revenge

There’s something impossiblyseductiveabout the way he moves. It’s not just the violence. It’s the control. The way he takes his time, savouring the moment. Every rip of the tendon, every twist of his fingers, feels deliberate, calculated. And somehow, it’s like watching a dance—dark, dangerous, and impossibly sensual.

His muscles shift beneath his shirt with every movement, the fabric tight over his chest. It clings to him in a way that makes my mouth dry, and I wonder what it would feel like to touch him—feel the strength in his arms, the heat of his skin.

I try to shake the thought away, but my body doesn’t listen. Heat floods my chest now, a tightness sinking low in my stomach.

Everything about him—the way he looks, the way he moves—has me drawn to him like a moth to a flame. And I hate myself for it. But I can’t tear my eyes away.

“You’re staring,” Nate says, his lips twitching into a grin.

I blink my eyes, snapping my focus off him and back onto the task at hand.

Peter's arm is shredded and he’s clearly on the verge of passing out, his face red, breathing unevenly as he sucks air into his lungs.

“Think he’s had enough?” Nate asks, grinning maniacally, blood splattered over him in a way that shouldn’t be so arousing.

I take a moment to assess. Peter's eyes have fluttered shut now, his head lolling to the side. It’s not fun now that he no longer looks like he’s in pain.What does that say about me?

“Yeah. I’m done.”

“Your kill, Princess.” Nate motions for me to do the honours. To end Peter’s life.

I don’t hesitate. My pink blade comes down steady in my hand as I swipe it over his throat, severing his neck.

Watching his blood seep onto the concrete floor, staining it a crimson red, a sense of satisfaction washes over me.

One down. Six more to go.

2

Is She Flirting With Me?

Hypothetical Question: If you were a ghost, would you haunt your last victim or your worst enemy?

Nate

“What’syourplannow?”I ask, tilting my head as I study her.

“What do you mean?”

“You weren’t planning to just leave the body here, were you? Let someone stumble across it?”

“I…” she hesitates, her brow furrowing. “Crap. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “Don’t worry, Princess. I know a guy.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You know a guy.”

“Yep. My cleaner.”

“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “This guy doesn’t exactly mop floors for a living.”

“Not unless the floor’s covered in blood.” I laugh, enjoying the way her expression flickers between scepticism and intrigue.

She exhales sharply, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but it vanishes when I ask, “What’s next on your agenda? Any more rapists to kill?”

Her body tenses, just slightly, but I catch it—the smallest flinch.

“Six more.”