Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

etchings, making for an easier grip. Was it an antique? No one
used these anymore.
He lifted me up and planted my ass on the counter, his
hand on both sides of me.
“Keep going,” he said in a low voice.
Keep going? Did he want to die today? Or did he think I
wouldn’t use this on him?
“Why?” I asked him. “So you can prove how well I can do
what I’m told? Like a dog?” I put my free hand on his chest,
trying to keep him from getting too close. “I don’t need you to
feed me.”
“Maybe I need you to feed me.”
What did that mean?
“Do it,” he urged.
I held the blade, liking how easily the handle fit in my fist,
and loving how he was right in front of me, putting a weapon
in my hand, and this could all end now.
Did he trust me? Or did he think he could stop me in time?
He was definitely testing me. Seeing how much I did or
didn’t hate him.
And he was willing to put himself in danger to find out.
All of a sudden, I felt like I did the night I drove his car all
those years ago.
Like I was dangerous.
“I’ll cut you,” I warned him.
“Yeah.”
“And if I slit your throat?”
He breathed a laugh. “My kind of fun has a price,
remember?”
I stopped breathing for a moment, remembering those
words. Remembering that he was him. My ghost. The one I
kissed and made love to.