“You had me arrested!” Hot breath riffled through Permac Sudé’s dark, full beard. Cold metal stung his neck. He knew the voice hissing in his ear. He suspected he knew the knife at his throat. It was probably the same one he planned to pick up when the door chime woke him. He jerked forward, not a smart thing to do with a sharp blade close to delicate skin, and any skin that close to a blade is delicate. No door chime. No knife on the table. How the hell did she get in?
He had survived thirty-four years of life without wounds or scars and had no desire to find out what it felt like now. She was skilled enough to expect his startled reaction and allowed the knife to follow his slight movement without doing any damage. Any allowance beyond that was unlikely.
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