“Then you don’t mind if I cut here?” I press the blade to my skin, not hard enough to actually cut, but enough to flirt with the idea.
Suddenly, Killian stands up, his hands free from the rope.
What the hell?
“You!” I shout, pointing the knife at him. “Son of a b***h, when the hell did you free yourself?”
“From the start. Now give me that f*****g knife.”
“Why the hell did you play along if you were free?!”
“You looked fun and proud of your little stunt; I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
What?
And he says he doesn’t care about me?
Let’s see.
The knife goes back to my neck and he shouts, “Are you crazy?!”
“Remember me!”
“It’s not that easy!”
“Then admit that you care about me!”
But he’s too proud, too stubborn; too comfortable in his indifferent personality, the one where no on
