“Your knife, Alexis.” “It’s my property! You can’t take something I legally own—” Simone’s hand slams onto the table. The sound is like a gunshot. It runs through me, heavy reverberations that shake my bones. “Give it to me.” She’s whispering now, and it feels far, far worse than yelling. “Or so help me, I will carve scars into that pretty face of yours.”
Who made this byotch in charge ?
