Page 60 of Ghosted

That’s what pisses her off.

I drag the blade lightly across the open edge of her jacket first, slow enough for her to stop me if she wants to. She doesn’t. Her hands stay fisted in my hoodie, her chest rising faster as the metal slips lower, cold against the rain-soaked fabric hanging off her shoulder.

“Why so quiet, ghost girl?" I murmur.

Her jaw clenches.

Fuck me thats pretty.

The tip kisses bare skin just above the low edge of her shirt, and a tiny line opens.

Nothing really deep, but Alice gasps, and the sound punches straight through me.

My grip tightens at her waist as a thin bead of red slips down the rain-coated curve of her breast. For a second, I just stare at it. At her, and the way she’s looking at me like she hates me for knowing exactly what this does to her.

Fucking Christ.

I lift the mask, and rain hits my lips, cold and sharp, but I barely feel it. My eyes stay on hers as I lower my head, flatten my tongue, and drag it slowly over the wet, bloody line.

Alice makes this soft little sound.

Not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

A sound that's just mine.

My eyes snap up to hers, and whatever control I had left goes mean and wild behind them.

She sees it and knows.

For one second, neither of us moves.

Rain in the trees. Mud under our boots. Her blood on my tongue. Her hands twisted in my hoodie like she forgot she was supposed to push me away.

Then she remembers and she shoves me hard. I let her go because I want to watch her choose it.

She stumbles back, breath rough, one hand flying to the tiny cut while her eyes stay locked on mine.

“You are so fucked up,” she whispers.

I look at her for a second, letting that sit between us with the rain, then lift the karambit where she can see it. Her blood is still on the curved edge, watered down to a thin red streak that clings to the metal anyway.

Alice’s eyes drop to it, and when they come back to mine, her breathing isn’t as steady as she wants it to be.

Fuck if that doesn’t make my cock twitch.

I drag my tongue along the blade, slow and deliberate, cleaning the rain and blood from the edge while she watches every inch of it. Her lips part again, but nothing comes out this time, and fuck if that doesn’t make the whole thing worth it.

The knife folds shut with a quiet click.

I tuck it back into my pocket, pull the mask down over my face, and step toward her just enough to make her back up.

“Run, then,” I say, smiling behind the teeth. “That’s what you wanted, right? Fear with a head start.”

Her throat moves.

Then she turns and runs.

And this time, when I go after her, I already know how the fuck it ends.