I was going to shank him in the neck with my very dull butter knife. Then he’d see how proficient I was with a blade. I could do it, too. He wasn’t wearing his gorget this evening. His throat was bare, just begging to be opened right up, and I was in the mood to lay steel to flesh. I only realized I’d been staring at his throat when Fisher lifted his chin a little, angling his head so that the tendons in his neck stood proud. That fucking smile again. I wanted to wipe it off his smug face so badly.
