I clamped down on his hand, and his fingers wrapped around my wrist.
I gasped, the glass only inches from his neck, the sharp point gleaming in the dim light.
My eyes met his for a moment—my own, frantic with desperation; his, with something else entirely. Not dread. Not revulsion.
Entertainment
His smile was slowly, contemplatively spread across his lips. "Seriously, Stella?" He spoke softly, in a low, menacingly gentle voice. "You believed you could have killed me?"
I lay under his grip, my heart thumping in my ear. His fingers became tighter, bending apart my fingers, so the glass slipped out between them and hit the floor.
I laughed, the echo between us. There was something to it, though, that was off, something loose as if I had just confirmed some warped theory he had construct
