“I hope you bite and scratch, little whore.” “Oh, I sure do.” With a feral grin, I plunge the knife into his side, right below his left armpit. His face twists with agony. He roars, flopping onto his side and allowing me to scrabble out from under him. I dive for the door while he’s still immobilized. My hands are no longer shaking as I pull back the bolts. Who does that sick fuck think he is, thinking he can take me to Russia and make me his fucking bride? I am Joey fucking Moretti.
