The Twist Of A Knife: A Novel นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Hе prеssеd tеndеr kissеs along thе slеndеr column of hеr throat, his touch infinitеly gеntlеr than thе brutal possеssion that had prеcеdеd it. Sarah trеmblеd in thе circlе of his еmbracе, hеr mind a roiling vortеx of conflicting еmotions. Shе had crossеd a linе tonight, had givеn hеrsеlf ovеr to tеmptations and dеsirеs that could nеvеr bе takеn back or undonе.

WINNIE I was convinced that I had stopped breathing at that moment. It took everything within me to still the tremor in my hands. “I can see you already having fun with your new husband” he spat the last two words with so much venom that I had to wonder if they were truly related. It was baffling that his own brother could detest him this much. His eyes raked over my body not so subtly and his eyes instantly darkened with hunger. I closed my eyes and shuddered internally for a brief moment.

She yelped and cried out in pain, and soon, she had tears streaming down her face. I twisted the knife slowly as I watched a pool of blood form below her. I pulled the knife out and heard her gasp. Then I plunged the knife into her bare foot and the knife went straight through. "A bit to the right," Eric called out. He was such a smart ass. I smirked and twisted the knife to the right. Maya was screaming in agony, but it was nothing less than what she deserved. I pulled the knife out and wiped it on her trousers. I plunged the knife deep into her arm, making sure to really twist it. Then I pulled it out and tossed it to the ground. I looked at the bitch with my head tilted. She had almost fa

A fundamental, catastrophic miscalculation. The moment my hand closed around her wrist, her entire demeanor transformed. The cold, articulate strategist vanished, replaced by a cornered, feral creature fighting for its life. She didn't try to pull away. She turned into me, her body coiling, and her free hand came up from her pocket. I felt the cold, sharp, unmistakable point of a blade press against my stomach, right below my ribcage. A small, wicked-looking utility knife, the kind artists use to sharpen pencils or cut canvas. She had it pressed hard enough to promise penetration.

I twisted the knife. The wolf was gone.

It was like it was burned into the old wooden floor. As I looked at the twisted handle that was on the knife, I furrowed my brows. I knew I had never seen it before, yet it looked oddly familiar. I reached down and took hold of the twisted handle. As soon as I picked it up, a blindingly bright light filled the room.

She moved forwards to her and took out a knife and she cut her wrist with it, as blood oozed out from there. He'd never been so useless in his life. He felt like he was nothing. Worthless. As he took a step forward, a loud bang was heard and everything was in flame, it was like fog happened. After some minutes, he looked in front of him and saw that Sophia was no longer tied to her chair. She was nowhere to be found. He glanced around and saw Zainab's dead body who had a bullet hole on her forehead. It was like a dream-everything happened so fast in puff.

He finally broke the dead silence of the room and took me from my runaway thoughts. Ope okay... alright gee wonder what we gotta talk about? Maybe the murder that happened in front of me from the crazy ass dude? "Oh we do?" I said quietly. "Yeah." He shuffled awkwardly and sat down. Why is he the awkward one? I'm the one that was almost killed and then watched someone be killed and covered up. Who was that poor soul? His family? Wait, am I sympathetic to my potential murderer? What the hell? Wow that's a new one... but like did he really have to die? He could have just been apprehended and put to justice not put to death, because how do we know he was going to kill me... I mean anything woul

The knife in my other hand presses against his ribs, ready to drive home. He smiles up at me, blood on his teeth, eyes bright with triumph. “Too late,” he whispers. “She’s already mine.” The words leave his mouth and something inside me snaps like a bone under too much pressure. I slam him against the wall so hard the entire house groans, my forearm crushing his windpipe while my other hand drives the knife into his gut with every ounce of strength I have. The blade sinks deep, through muscle and organ, and I twist it viciously, feeling the resistance give way as blood pours hot and thick over my knuckles.