“How would you like it if I cracked your ribcage and tore out your heart?” Charlie rips open the last buttons of his white shirt. Bare chest and toned abs in view. “Go ahead.” Eliot unpockets a switchblade, twirls the knife, and stakes it on the wooden table near Ben. “No,” Jane scolds. I tear the knife out of the wood and snap the blade closed with a quick hand. I shove the weapon in my back pocket. “Murder-blocker,” Tom quips. “The worst,” Eliot jokes.
