I don’t let my eyes dart around to see the men behind me, their guns trained on me I'm sure. I keep my focus on slicing the knife into Milo’s neck. I should have already done it, instead of waiting to persuade Milo to set me free.
“You are a spirited one. I’m going to have so much fun breaking you.”
“You won’t touch me.”
He tilts his head, allowing me better access to his neck,
and I press harder—until one droplet of blood coats the knife.
So close. Just a little harder and blood will be spurting.
Milo chuckles. “You should have slit my throat by now.”
I press harder, watching more blood. “And if I slit your throat, your men will kill me a second later.”
“Ah, that’s your concern.” He looks up to his men. “If she slits my throat, you are to do nothing to her. You don’t touch her. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” both men say.
I freeze. What the hell?
“There, now you are free to slit my throat without any repercussion from my men.”
Do it.
“But, you better make sure you kill me when you slice my throat. Because I will make you pay ten times over for any damage you do to me.”
His hand comes to my wrist gripping the knife, and he presses it harder to his neck as more blood spills. He doesn’t show the slightest sign of agony at the blade’s touch. This man understands pain. And this isn’t pain to him—I understand the feeling.
“I want you to slice my neck. It will make it so much more fun when I slice your neck right back.”
Shit.
What am I doing? I will never get out of here alive. I don’t have to. I just can’t get on that yacht.
He releases his grip on my wrist. “What’s it going to be, whore? Slice my neck and see what happens. Because as much as you think you will be able to kill me, you have to slice a lot deeper for me to bleed out before my team of men jumps in to save me.”
My eyes cut to the two men driving and the dozens of cars around us. No doubt one of them is a doctor, and no doubt he is carrying a pint of his blood. I’ve seen what money can do to motivate a doctor to save a dying man’s life. Zeke shouldn’t be alive except for having the highest paid doctor with the best training to do whatever it takes to save him.
Milo will be no different. One slice won’t be enough to kill him. I would need a dozen or more stabs. And Milo will only let me get one before he fights back.
His eyes threaten me, as if they already know my thoughts, and he’s a dozen steps ahead of me.
I need to do something he isn’t expecting. It’s my only chance.
I could stab myself—put an end to this.
I won’t.
I want to live.
For no other reason than to kick Enzo’s ass for selling me.
There are six additional cars. More than a dozen men ride in the fancy, most likely bulletproof, vehicles all around us. I’m outnumbered by a ridiculous amount.
Milo’s phone rings again, but he ignores it—too infatuated by what I’m going to do.
I’m going to crash this motherfucking car.