Page 52 of Embriagado

He looked back at me, unimpressed.

“You, obviously⁠—”

I slammed his back on the desk and hovered above him.

“Ouch?” he said, a shit-eating grin on his face.

My heart thrummed in my ears, and sickened by his mockery, I grabbed him by the throat, fingers digging into his jugular in a powerful grip. I would have snapped his neck in half if not for the sharp stab to my side. Looking between us, I saw he was holding a knife to my rib cage.

“I’ll puncture your lungs before you can even spell fuck. So, I’d be careful if I were you.”

I gritted my teeth but didn’t remove my hand from his throat.

“You’re sick in the head,” I hissed when he smirked.

“Says the guy who came after being beaten to a pulp. A bit of a masochist, aren’t you?”

Heat rushed to my face, and instinctively, I tightened my grip. In return, he applied more pressure to the knife, until the sharp edge jabbed my skin.

“Down, boy. Didn’t we agree to play nice?”

“We agreed nothing,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “And I ain’t your dog.”

“You’re sure about that?” His lips curled up. “Last night, you were beyond eager to be.”

Catching movement to my side, I quickly reached forward and grabbed his free hand, pinning it to the desk and forcing him to let go of the pencil he'd picked up.

The crazy fucker probably wanted to stick it in my eye.

“If you wanted to hold hands, you could have just said so,” he teased, tilting his head aside to meet my eyes. “Now tell me, how did your little meeting go? Did you get there on time?”

The muscle in my jaw tensed at his words, because did it mean⁠—

“You son of a bitch. You planned it all?”

His brows rose before he huffed a laugh. “Are you serious? Of course I did.”

My nostrils flared, and I wrapped my fingers tighter around his neck until the skin began to turn red. “The fuck do you want from me? Why are you doing this?”

He dropped his smile.

“I told you why.”

“Huh?”

Rolling his eyes, he tsked. “You truly are the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”

“Fuck off!” I roared, gripping him harder when he stabbed me. “Fuck—” I gasped, releasing him at once and stepping back. Looking down, I saw that it was a superficial cut, yet it was enough to hurt like a bitch.

“I warned you to behave, didn’t I?” he said while straightening up.

That venomous little shit.

Vibrating with fury, I glared at him. “When did you tell me anything?” I hissed, unable to come up with something.

“Last night.”

“Well, fuck, Sherlock. I was high as a kite and can’t remember shit.”