Kendra’s POV
Scott ripped his fist to the side, and the belt in his hand sliced through the air like a whip. The buckle landed across their faces with a sharp, wet snap. I flinched at the sound. Blood splattered onto the wall behind them, streaking down like paint from a broken brush. The men cried out, their faces contorted in pain, their knees trembling beneath them.
“Tell me,” Scott shouted, voice hoarse, unrecognizable, laced with fury. “Tell me!”
He let the belt fall to the floor, the weight of it landing with a dead thud. His hand moved to his pocket. I saw the glint before the blade even cleared the fabric. A sharp, curved knife. Clean. Cold. Precise. My heart thudded once, hard, against my ribs.
He turned toward the man on the left, and I saw that man’s face collapse with fear.
