Cut The Tension With A Knife Novels & Stories

The metal blade caught the cold morning light. "You're too stiff," Sebastian said. His deep voice broke the quiet like a stone dropped in a well. He didn't look up from his bowl. "Relax your shoulders, Elliot. You look like you're about to go into a board battle." "Mind your own business," I muttered. I pressed the blade down into the crust. My palms were slick with sweat, a side effect of the heavy suppressants trying to fight off the stress in my blood. The knife slipped. The sharp metal teeth tore through the bread and bit straight into the meat of my left hand.

Theo will have my back, I know he will. I have my right hand free, so I start reaching for the knife I shoved between the cushions. I grab the blade first and I can feel it cutting my fingers as I try to pull the knife out, but I don't care. I manage to pull it out, I adjust it in my hand and I don't hesitate. I use all my strength to drive the big knife straight into his torso, right between his ribs, I imagine, because it feels like I've hit something hard before it goes in.

I searched around for anything sharp I could use to make a tear and of course, there was nothing. Until my eyes landed on the knife stuck in Maso’s throat. “Oh, fuck… I need that knife…” I said, grimacing. “You’re not actually thinking of…” Cara trailed off, looking disturbed by the idea. “I am…” I nodded but made no move to get it. “Okay… Okay… You can do it. You smashed a rock into someone’s head. You watched his fucking brain mass. This is nothing.” I tried to encourage myself. “Nope, not working.” I gagged at the image that flashed in my mind. I put a hand to my mouth, trying my best not to throw up. I took a few deep breaths and finally mustered the courage to retrieve the knife.

Lucianne~ One could have been able to cut the tension at the table with a blunt knife. That was how thick it was. Just like at the parlour a few minutes ago, everyone pretended to be focused on everything else but on each other. But that could not have been further from the case. Not a sound could be heard, except for cutlery. Even the sound of breathing was tuned out that it was like everybody had held their breath.

I fight against his suffocating grip, desperate to break free and prevent my head from being forced underwater. Under the bright spotlight, I noticed a glimmer—a silver knife resting in a crate next to me, submerged and ready. With determination, I grabbed it, feeling its cold metal in my hand. Quickly, I slashed at Josh's hand, the cut deep enough to make him let go of my tangled hair. A gasp tore from my throat, loud and ragged, as I gulped in precious air. Teeth clenched, I lashed out in frustration, kicking at him with all the force I could muster.

“Please, I have a family—” I pulled my knife from its sheath, the blade glinting under the flashing club lights. “So did I,” I said, pressing the tip just below his collarbone. His entire body trembled. “I’ll disappear,” he choked out. “I swear. I’ll leave the city. You’ll never see me again.” I tilted my head, considering it. Then I dragged the knife down, slow and deliberate, carving into his flesh. His scream tore through the room, raw and agonized, but I didn’t stop. I cut deeper, forming each letter with the same precision I used when slicing through my enemies. Blood poured down his chest, pooling at his waist, staining his expensive suit.

My parents made me submit a written request to the family accountant for any expense over five dollars. They said it would keep me from becoming vain. On the day of the car accident, I sat in the ER, struggling to stay still through the pain. I charged $200 for emergency treatment to the card linked to my father's account. The bandage was barely on when my parents called to tear into me. "Who said you could steal from this family? The Bennett family has rules, and they do not include feeding parasites who bleed us dry!" They froze every card I had on the spot. The hospital discharged me because I couldn't pay for further observation. So I walked. More than ten miles back to the Bennett estat

A guttural howl tore from his throat. "Ahhh!" He snatched a steak knife from the nearest table. Without hesitation, he reversed the blade and drove it toward his own heart. "I'll give it back! I'll give you your life back!" Screams erupted from the crowd. The blade was a breath away from piercing his skin. A flash of gold lit my eyes. A dark green vine burst through a crack in the floor and coiled around his wrist with surgical precision. The steak knife clattered to the ground.

his voice trembled, thin and fraying at the edges of sanity. Calvin stepped in anyway. “Just relax,” he murmured, almost gently. “It won’t hurt much.” The lie hung in the air like rot. The blade descended. “ARRGHHHHHH—!” The scream tore through the room, raw and inhuman, echoing off the walls as the knife carved into him with the same slow, merciless precision. Flesh split under steel, blood spilling in trembling rivulets as Cullen’s body convulsed violently then went slack.

I say instead. She was very professional. She was so professional that she stood there in that “professional” outfit— So professional that I had to physically restrain myself from closing the distance between us and ruining that soft— My pants tighten against my cock. I drop the knife. Startled. What the fuck— Marcus is still on the line. I pick the knife back up. My hands are not steady. I resume chopping. I do not examine what just happened in my pants. That was biological. A glitch. A misfire.