I ripped my hand free, heart pounding, but Vincent caught my wrist again. His grip was like iron, his fingers digging into my skin.
"Let me go," I snapped, twisting to break free.
Instead, he dragged my hand back to his chest, forcing my fingers to curl tightly around the knife. His hand locked over mine, sealing us together.
"Don’t," I warned, my voice shaking. "Don’t make me do this."
His smile was thin, humourless. "You won’t."
Then, with terrifying calm, he pushed my hand forward. The blade punctured his chest, slipping through fabric and skin alike. A gasp tore from my throat as crimson blossomed across his shirt, staining my fingers.
"Vincent!" I cried, yanking my hand back. My breath hitched as I stared at the blood spilling over his fingers. "What is wrong with you?"
He stag
