Taking a deep breath, I forced my grip to relax and set the knife back in its place, smoothing out any hint of my near rebellion. It was foolish anyway. A knife, against him? He’d only laugh. But the impulse gnawed at me, that burning need to fight, to prove I wasn’t just some delicate thing he could bend at his whim anymore.
He would definitely threaten me using my family.
I could feel his gaze again, sharp and aware, even if he kept his back turned. He knew. He always seemed to know.
Swallowing my frustration and trying hard not to get tempted to attack him only to be punished, I sat on the stool in front of the counter keeping healthy distance from him. He noticed though and only chuckled.
“You look awfully on guard. Do I wreck your nerves that badly?”
How do I tell him he did not
