C65 Don't Fret

Katie’s POV

“I work….” Well, we are making progress—two fucking words are better than one, but it isn’t the answer I want.

Gripping him by the throat, I rip the knife from my ankle, where I always keep it and press it firmly against his throat.

Blood trickles from the cut, but I am not done. I will be bathing in his blood by the end of this if he doesn’t provide me with answers