Page 29 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
I glance past him toward the workbench, the layout of it registering without effort, metal, edges, tools that don’t need explanation.
Options.
My hand closes around one of the knives.
The weight settles into my palm easily.
When I turn back, his expression has shifted.
Not fear.
Not yet.
But something closer to it.
I step closer until there’s no space left between us.
“Where is my wife.”
The words come out quieter this time.
Not pushed.
Not forced.
Just...there.
He swallows.
His eyes flick briefly to the knife.
Then back to me.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
The answer comes too quickly.
Too practiced.
Too certain.
The knife goes in before he can build on it. Straight into his thigh.
The sound that comes out of him tears through the space, raw and immediate, his body jerking hard against the restraints.
I leave the blade there.
Feel it. The resistance. The tension. Then pull it back out slowly.
“Where is she.”
His breathing is already breaking apart.
“I told you,” he spits, “I don’t—”
I take his hand before he can finish and pin it down.
“I’ll take parts off you,” I say quietly, watching him now, not the wound, not the blood, but him. “Until you tell me.”
