I took the handle, running a thumb over the sharp blade. A strange haze came over me, removing me from the van, hurtling me into darkness. Franco knew my aversion to carrying a knife into a tense altercation. Guns kept me human—impersonal, remote from taking a life. But a knife? A knife spoke to the beast. It made my mouth water at the thought of slipping the blade between an enemy’s ribcage and piercing their heart. To be so up close and personal, to feel their last breath, knowing I stole it from them. It made me fucking hard and twisted my brain into something monstrous. The temptation was
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