Pretty Knife Novels & Stories

“This is not happening.” “Oh, it’s happening,” Kylan said with a grin, crossing his arms. His tattoos shifted with the movement, drawing my unwilling attention. “And you should thank us. You looked like you could use a decent meal.” “I don’t need anything from you,” I snapped, my face heating as I realized I was still holding the knife. Kieran raised an eyebrow. “Planning to use that, or are you just trying to make a point?” I looked down at the knife in my hand and quickly shoved it back into my bag. “Shut up.”

I walked him through proper form, stance, and grip, emphasizing the importance of holding the knife correctly. “First, find a knife that fits you,” I explained. “Not every blade suits everyone. As a beginner, it’s best to practice with the same set until you improve. Look for something durable and balanced. And yes, some knives dull faster—avoid those. For now, a dull edge is safer, but you still want a sharp point for effectiveness.” I gestured to the training closet. “Try a few until you find one that feels right.”

The planner made sure to have all my weapons in the hotel before I arrived to throw off any suspicion, and right now, I feel so grateful to him for handling my babies so well. After taking one last look at my Heckler & Koch VP9, MP5DS, and Mk23, my gaze settled on my Fairbairn-sykes Fighting Knife, Sog SOG FIXED Blade, and United Cutlery Push Dagger. Then I headed into the bathroom and got naked before entering the shower. I always like to feel clean before doing a dirty job, and tonight was going to be one of those missions where I have to do more than shooting a bullet into a man's head, so I want to look my best.

Kian "Did you get the other bullet out? Here, use this," he offered, producing a pocketknife. I tried digging it out, but it refused to budge. Blood was spewing from the hole now that I'd made it worse. My fingertips burned as they came into contact with the silver. I grunted through it, enjoying the pain like the sadistic bastard that I'd become. "Got it," I announced, holding it up to see for myself.

My instincts screamed that they were lying. He had been fine just moments ago. How could he suddenly be at death's door? The nurse spoke rapidly, her words tumbling out like a freight train, "Madeline just passed away. Grace lost it. She grabbed a knife and stabbed Mr. Holt several times." Winston was in the emergency room, drenched in blood. It poured endlessly from his lower abdomen; the red liquid gushing out of him seemed endless. The moment I walked in, he stared straight at me and reached out to me with his blood-soaked hand.

He stops in front of the table. “Maybe.” He picks up the knife resting there. Small. Balanced. Sharp. Vera notices immediately. “What are you doing?” she asks. Kael doesn’t answer . He weighs the knife once in his hand, eyes never leaving her face . “You’re not going to move,” he says. “That’s not a question.” “No.” She doesn’t step back. Kael flicks his wrist. The knife flies. Fast. Precise. Vera moves without thinking. Her hand comes up and catches the blade inches from her face. Clean. Controlled. No hesitation.

He stuttered. "Huh?" I asked dumbfounded. "The sword....i- it's not a knife, it's a katana sword. They are very sharp and can be quite lethal. If you don't know how to hold it, you can get seriously hurt. I'm sorry miss, but if you don't hold a permit for it, I can not allow you to keep it."

The color drained from Landon's face. Before he knew it, Alyssa had pressed the butterfly knife against his neck. The butterfly knife was the most notorious of all weapons, as it was insidious and lethal. It perched precariously on the end of one's fingers, striking a perfect balance between style and deadliness. How cruel and heartless of a woman to fight him with a butterfly knife. "Stop pestering me, Landon Harper." She narrowed her eyes and gently slapped the reflective blade against his cheek. "I would never pick you even if there were no men left in this world."

I guess it comes in different forms. The pocketknife in Sally’s purse was an old Swiss Army issue, the kind with can openers and corkscrews and nail scissors attached. She still has it. We call it Freddy, like from the movies. The blades are notched so tight together if you try to pull one out and don’t do it tough, it’ll snap back and slice a finger before it locks straight. It’s possible Sally thought about taking the knife out, that night in the motel. Thought about risking a little blood. And it’s possible the thought got her contemplating carnage.