The Twist Of A Knife: A Novel Novels & Stories

I sidestepped just in time, the blade missing me by inches. Before he could recover, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply. A sharp crack sounded as he yelped in pain, his fingers loosening their hold. The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering against the concrete floor. His free hand lashed out, aiming for my face, but I ducked, using his own momentum against him. Twisting my body, I drove my knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

A small twist leaves their arms dislocated and earns a yelp from them. Two others came after me brandishing their weapons. I wrapped my arms around the torso of one. I carried him above my shoulders and flung him across the wall. He rolled down the wall with a groan. The other threw a scissors kick. A little tilt of my head away from his leg, I caught his leg mid air. I gave it a twist. I heard a snap and then he yelled in pain loudly. I took his knife and drove it right through his neck. His blood splattered around and on my face and body.

ELEVEN The man came for Rowena and instinct forced her into the kitchen, feet slamming the tiles as she ran. That same instinct screamed at her to snatch the nearest available weapon. Anything would do. Anything. Her fingers curled around a long-bladed kitchen knife housed in the chopping block—yet another antique Clive hadn’t been able to let go of. Grief was like taffy, it was sticky as hell, and the longer you played in its snare the sweeter it became. Even though it frustrated her, Rowena couldn’t begrudge her husband that. No, not one bit. Some messes, people must escape alone.

The hand left my mouth. Now it was just me and him. Eye to eye. His presence swallowed me whole, tall, sharp, his face unreadable, like it had been carved from stone. Jawline sharp. My throat burned as he wrapped his hand around it, his grip firm but not crushing. Cold steel pressed against my neck—the knife. I gasped, my bag slipping from my shoulder. It hit the ground with a dull thud, spilling open, and my book tumbled out. He glanced down. The cover showed a girl in a tattered white dress, standing alone, shadows stretching around her. Black roses curled up the sides, thorns sharp, almost alive. The title dripped in blood-red letters across the top.

READ THE TW in the first chapter before proceeding and read the author's note below!!!! ____ NINA “You don’t deserve my fucking cock. You only deserve to be punished and taught a lesson.” The knife was once again back between my legs and he thrust the handle inside me, stretching me in a way I had never been before. Going so deep, it hurt in the most pleasant of ways. He used his hand on my head to keep me still and pliant under him as he fucked me with the knife handle, thrusting it again and again, and twisting it against the sensitive spot inside me that made me melt.

I let Nora take over. Ignoring the agony, I twisted with her, my body a whirlwind of motion. I grabbed her hand, twisting it with a sickening crunch. The knife, slick with my blood, slid from my side. With a final, furious motion, I plunged it into her heart. A choked scream erupted from her throat, blood splattering from her mouth.

Her head was spinning with contradictory feelings: rage, hopelessness, guilt, and a great loss. She couldn't stay somewhere she wasn't wanted, but she couldn't stand the thought of leaving her family. But perhaps everyone would benefit from leaving, she concluded. Isabella needs time to heal; I have to rebuild my life. Sharon packed a small rucksack including basics for Ethan and herself as the evening progressed. She moved gently, careful not to wake anyone. She carefully took out a small paper and pen to write the note she intended to leave behind, but it seemed so difficult; it was the toughest challenge.

This feels so wrong to an extant where I want to continue this wrongness. Breaking the kiss hurriedly, he looked into my eyes and searched for something that I couldn't explain. When I slightly nodded my head knowing what he was looking for, Rishi's eyes turned peach black as he dipped his head between my shoulder line and neck line. I could feel his hands reaching for my bra hooks, and I know this is the moment that I was going to regret for my whole life. you're screwed up Anbu, I said to myself when he finally unhooked my bra.

I sighed in frustration and averted my eyes when my eyes caught on the large bowl of fruit on the table nearby. And lying there beside it—a knife. My fingers tingled at the thought of that cold metal in my hand. Knife. Only if I could get my hands on it. I could sue it later. Swallowing hard, I took a step toward it, keeping my gaze trained on his back. He didn’t turn, and I edged closer, the knife’s handle now within reach. The moment my fingers brushed the cool steel, his voice cut through the silence making me jump and the knife slipped from my fingers landing with a loud clank on the marbled floor.

She flew away from me, not before she unsheathed the knife that was in the crook of her trousers and tried to swing it, aiming for slashing my exposed neck. I was still falling. I turned to my left, then to my right. There was a falling wrench, before I could even process what it would be good for I clutched and held on it. Perhaps I could use it as a weapon of some sort. There was debris of a glass platform falling on the other side of me. This crushing crescendo was getting worst, it was becoming quicker. It was clear that I would soon land on the ground. The actual hard ground. Whipping around, I forced the wrench into the glass platform. It splintered and split down the middle, thick las