The Knife Of Never Letting Go Book Novels & Stories

My hand tightened on the knife. I wanted to carve that look off his face. Instead, I smiled. “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe I’ve just learned the truth, you hold on to people, and they let go of you. That’s reality, Noah. And I’m going to make you see it.” I slammed the knife into the wall beside his head, the steel vibrating from the force. He didn’t flinch. That only enraged me further.

I needed to create the perfect opportunity for my escape. I did a seductive dance, like I was some stripper, but didn't take my clothes off, while I moved subtly toward an item I spotted that would come in handy. "Yes, baby. Make Daddy hard," he spoke dirty, touching his dick through his pants. I wished he would just shut the hell up. His eyes trailed me all the way till I got to the item - a big book, like some ancient encyclopedia with a back cover made of wood. I grabbed it and quickly swung at him. I landed a successful hit, smashing the book in his head. He fell back, then I took to my heels.

Survival was more than just pulling a trigger; it meant knowing when to pull it, who to aim at, and making sure they never got back up. Traitors hid behind expensive suits and fake smiles, knives ready to strike my back. But they forgot one thing: I played by the rules until someone played me dirty. And when they did, the retribution I served was tenfold. No one played me for a fool and lived. The cigarette had burned down to the filter. I crushed it into the ashtray, grinding it until the ember died. The tray wobbled on the edge of the table. My hand shot out to steady it, but the booze in my system dulled my reflexes. It tipped over, shattering into a thousand glinting shards.

I drew in a sharp breath as he slipped two fingers inside me. “Always.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to mine. “Come on, we need to finish cleaning up and get you bandaged up again.” He pulled his fingers from me and raised them to my lips, pressing them inside. That fire-filled light in his eyes burned brighter as I rolled my tongue around his fingers, cleaning them off. When he pulled his hand free, he helped me to stand but held me close. “I’m never letting you go.” My heartbeat sped up, and I reached up and cupped his face. “You never have to.”

"I want all of her money, her business and you back in my bed." Oh, she has got to be kidding right? What the hell would make her think that any of that would ever happen? "Aint ever going to happen, Amy. Not in this lifetime or the next!" Her face remains calm as she shrugs her shoulders. "Okay." That is all she says right before she pulls her knife away from Molly's throat and pushes her towards the edge of the bridge so quickly that none of us even have a chance to move and as I watch the scene unfold in front of me I swear that my heart stops beating.

I want to shut her up, itching to tell her she's the pathetic one so bad. But I don't. Something about the disdain in her tone– clear, thick, her voice tight and cold– makes me think it's smarter not to piss her off. So I swallow back the words at the tip of my tongue, chest heaving. Chloe continues with this strange look on her face. “In the end, only one of us can have him, and it can't be you, it'll never be, not in this life, not in the afterlife,” Something cold starts to coil in my stomach, her gun hasn't moved an inch, just stationed there like it's waiting for the perfect time.

Blade's POV The Book. The word sat in my chest like a stone. Book? I turned it over in my mind. What book? For half a second it meant nothing … and then it meant everything, and the meaning hit me so hard I forgot how to breathe. Could it be? Could she possibly mean that Book? I looked down at her limp in my arms, her face gray and slack, and the shock locked up my whole body. My lungs wouldn’t fill. Because there was only one Book that mattered. Only one Book that anyone would whisper about with her dying breath, sealed away in a place like this.

I had once imagined what it would be like to meet my birth parents, but I never expected it to be like this. I stared at them but didn't move. "Johnny, if she refuses to apologize to Yelena, then break her legs." Johnny approached me slowly. My eyes turned cold. I flexed my fingers, and the knife twirled deftly between them. The sight of it made the four of them freeze. With a flick of my wrist, the knife flew into the air. As it fell, I caught its blade between my fingers, then, with a swift motion, sent it whizzing past Johnny's head. The knife embedded itself deep into the wall behind him.

Births and deaths compressed into fractions of seconds, love stories ending badly, battles turning on single moments, children crying in rooms where no one came, laughter at tables surrounded by warmth, all of it pouring into me at once, filling every available space behind my eyes, between my thoughts, in the parts of my mind that I had always understood to be mine. This was not mine. This was everything. My body locked. I felt my grip on the book tighten and understood distantly that I couldn’t have let go even if I’d wanted to, not because something was holding me, but because the part of my brain that sends the signal to release a hand had been entirely drowned out. My fingers were white

Let the Child… channel… It’s not a strategy. It’s suicide for the grove. It’s tearing out my own heart. But the truth is there, in the dying whisper, in the stolen knowledge, in the Child’s cold, waiting gaze. Holding on is death for everything. Letting go… is the only wound we can inflict.