Page 167 of Bad Attitude
“I don’t know.”And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.
“Convenient, but I’m afraid I don’t believe you.” He slaps my face again, the other side, no harder than last time. It’s almost affectionate. My cheeks feel warm, but I’m more concerned how hard those blows are going to get. “What’s the package?”
“Not telling you,” I grind out. “Let mego.”
He gives my chin a shake. “You will tell me.”
“Fuckingmake me,” I spit at him.
He smiles slowly, eyes dancing with amusement. “You know I can. You know I will. Do you really want to challenge me?”
My reaction is half fear, half arousal, and full on fucking anger. I jerk my head, snapping my teeth athis fingers, but he moves his hand in time.
“Such fire in your eyes, Hellcat,” he chuckles, taking a pace back. “I love the way they flash. Shall we see how long that lasts?”
My retort is on the tip of my tongue, but it fades as he walks to the cabinet on the wall. Slides back the glass door. Picks up a goddamnknife.
“What the hell are you going to do with that?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and I can hear the note of panic in my voice. I clamp down hard, trying again. “This isn’t funny.”
He turns toward me, angling the blade so it catches the light, watching the gleam with an expression that’s almost curious. He’s way too calm.
Fucking psycho.
“You know,” he says, “it’s not going to bring me any pleasure to torture you.”
I swallow hard. I also don’t believe him. “Bullshit.”
He pulls his eyes off the knife and meets my gaze, mouth pushing into a full-on grin. “Yeah, okay, you got me.”
And that’s Declan, right there. Holding a knife like he means to use it, smiling with his eyes sparkling and dimples I have no business noticing right now. He looks fucking gorgeous, and I still respond to him.
Even now, while he threatens me, and I’m busy hating the hell out of him.
No one deserves to look that good. Especially no one as fucked up as Declan goddamn Hale.
“You’re going to lose your panties or your top,” he tells me, waving the knife. “Your choice.”
I press my lips thin. I’m not playing his games.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Both, then.”
“T-shirt,” I blurt. I don’t want that knife anywhere near anything… sensitive.
“Too late.”
Fucker. He was toying with me. He was always going to do what he wanted.
There’s nothing I can do to stop him as he pulls my strappy top away from my chest, nicks the neckline with the tip of the knife, then rips it open, right down the middle. It pulls at me, drawing a gasp, rocking me against my toes as I scrabble for purchase. My shoulders take the strain. And while I’m still fighting for balance, he cuts through the straps, one after the other. My top falls away, but he catches it, bundling it up and throwing it to the side of the room.
“Let’s try again,” he murmurs. “Bra or panties?”
“Bra.” No hesitation this time.
He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Sorry, still wrong answer. Going to have to be both.”
Motherfucker!
He doesn’t bother with the clasp. The blade makes short work of the straps, then he pulls the center away from my skin and cuts that too. My bra’s in tatters, thrown across the room to land on my top, leaving me in just my panties.
