Knife Play

The study stank of misery. Rain battered the windows, the winds howled its discontent. This night belonged to the devil.

Four had come in, demanding answers. None had succeeded. Jude smirked. There was one foreigner left, the pacifist.

Arms around him now. Something cold, hard, and sharp sank into Jude's chest, and slid across his neck.

"Hello," A tenor lilted against his ear. "Where is Salome?"

"Fuck you," Jude said. Evan smiled. "I hoped you'd say that," he said, and slammed Jude, still bound, onto the floor, and slashed, lightning-fast and hard, into his back. "I love a tease."