That’s the only thing that could make my fingers loosen. My hand falls slack and she breathes in desperate sucks of air. But the fear remains, simmering and toxic. That’s good. She needs to be scared. Fear is the strongest motivator. The most efficient, too.
“If you insist on acting like a wild animal, I’m going to treat you like one.”
Her eyes widen, even as her irises darken. “Or what?”
She must be a slow learner. Either that or she’s much braver than I’ve given her credit for. I’m inclined to be tolerant of bravery, but only to an extent. There’s a point at which it crosses over to stupidity.
“Or I’m going to give you another reason to mourn.”
I don’t have anything specific in mind when those words pass my lips. In my experience, open-ended threats are the most effective. The night
