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The silent girl and the timid one looked at me differently, recognizing my name and face as I dropped the hood.
Cat’s expression didn’t change, proving I was somehow a stranger to her.
Plaid Shirt edged away from me, his foot slamming backward into Cat’s chest, where it left a print as she tried to get up from the ground.
Her body became a heap on the floor, only calming my nerves by her lungs proving they hadn’t given up when her chest expanded.
“I knew you’d come back for her. And I knew that you had. I recognized your scent when I stepped into this kitchen.” He inhaled again, mimicking what he’d done earlier while leaning into my truck. He wasn’t smelling the blood. “Nutty… sweet…”
I stepped around the table, zoning in on the other girls. Pulling my blade from my pants didn’t scare them. These women would be blessed by death.
I dragged the blade along his plastered walls before moving to his fancy as fuck refrigerator with its ice crusher, which was where the girls stood.
“Get! Out!” I warned them. “The culling is about to start.”
Starting with your fucking master.
Plaid Shirt moved to Cat at the same time I did. My blade danced through the air, catching that ugly shirt, the pants it was now buttoned up and tucked into, and the skin beneath.
“You will not fucking touch her again.” My words were cold, but my touch was warm, pulling her from the ground and forcing her to her feet.
“How does it make you feel? That your little whore didn’t smell you? Didn’t recognize you from all those years ago.”
“I don’t care!” I bit out. All I cared about was getting her fucking away from here.
My hands wrapped around her tiny biceps, the muscles tensing beneath my fingers as I pushed her away from me.
“Run, babe,” was all I had a chance to say before he slammed me into the refrigerator, and then a blade flew toward me. It tickled my eyelashes as he tried to force it into my eye. An eye that could still see Cat in my peripheral, dwelling in the doorway with a look of concern on her face, concern for me.
“RUN! Go! Now, Cat!” She still didn’t move. Her fingers tightened on the frame, and I could see it in her wobble between rooms—she wanted to help me. “Get the fuck out of here!”
She finally listened, giving me a parting message, “Be safe.”
My stomach dropped to the floor with her jinx, and a fist to the jaw caught me off guard.
Plaid Shirt’s blade came at me again. My palm closed around it, and it sliced through my fingers rather than the side of my neck.
“Oh, Remington, what would your master say to see you fighting back like this for her? Up to your old tricks?” He pushed harder, twisting the blade and ripping my skin.
I couldn’t hold back my laugh—it was my natural response to pain. I was never a screamer.
“I think she’ll be impressed if I slit your throat.”
“She? My whore?”
“My girl.”
We battled with each other. His heavy weight slammed at my ears, going for the weak spot as he fought my pure determination to get him to the ground. I punched back, my knuckle breaking a bone in his nose that brought tears to his eyes.
Through his pain, he spat, “She is not your master. She never owned you. You were already property.”
“I was never property.” I laughed again. “I was a pawn.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m nothing.”
My foot separated us, landing in his hard stomach. The big bastard didn’t go down. Another foot flew at him, landing on the cock that I hit harder because I knew it had been in my fucking girl.
