Lam gave in to the immediate impulse to pull away. “Let go!” He demanded.
The man didn’t, his hand tightened, became crueler as he tried to bully Lam back against the wall of the bridge, holding the pocket knife in the vicinity of his throat.
Amatuer.
Lam went with it, slipping his own knife out of his coat pocket as he did. He counted down the seconds to his opportunity, to the moment the man believed he’d truly captured him.
Then Lam dropped his weight, slipping out of his hold and swiping the knife up in his place. His filet knife was freshly sharpened, and cut smooth as butter.
Lam grinned watching the shock fritter over the man’s face. There was always the gap, the space between the cut and the pain with a knife this sharp.
Then blood was pouring out of the man’s hand and he was stumbling away from Lam.
“You fucking bitch–!”
He made a predictable wild swipe with his own knife, and Lam dodged it easily and aimed a hard kick with his steel toe at the man’s knee. There was a loud crack and the joint buckled immediately. He went down like a sack of rocks.
The knife went clattered across the cobblestone.
Lam grinned and kicked the pocket knife neatly into the canal. It sank away into the dark waters almost without a sound.
It was too easy.
Pain was an effective teacher. The man was howling in pain but still trying to scramble away, having learned that his prey was not so easy to swallow down. Lam followed, quick as a snake, leaning down to grab a fistfull of hair. He used it to knock the man’s head back against the stone once, then twice. His body slackened from the stun, helpless.
“I told you to let go,” Lam said, tsking. “That’s strike one.”
From his pocket Lam pulled out a pair of flex cuffs and slid one loop and then the other over the man’s wrists and pulled the ends tight and secure. He lifted the man’s arms up and dropped them above his head out of the way.
By the time the man recovered, Lam had his blade at the man’s throat.
“Move and I’ll cut your carotid,” Lam purred sweetly. “You’ll bleed out in under two minutes and be dead long before anyone comes to help you. If there’s even anyone nearby to help you.”
The man under him blinked wide-eyed, confused. Then he tilted toward anger, as they always did.
“Fuck–fuck you!”
And so creative. Lam resisted rolling his eyes.
At least his catch tonight was handsome. Tall, like Lam had guessed looking at him in the bar, but unfortunately blond. He was broad like he spent time at the gym, but had the clean cut look of a businessman or a salesman.
Instead of a suit, tonight he was in black sweats. Black hoodie, black joggers, black boots. The uniform of all innocent men out for a midnight stroll.
Hoodie wasn’t quite what Lam would pick out from a line-up, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
The man tried to throw a fist, too slow to realize he’d been handcuffed. Lam leaned back to avoid it, and brought up his knife to meet the force instead, slicing a line up through the fabric of the man’s hoodie this time and into his arm. Lam held back, did his best to avoid nicking anything vital.
At least for now.
Hoodie yanked his arms back with the cry, and Lam put a hand right down on the wound, pressing it down onto the stone and arching over his body. The man hissed as he pushed his weight on the fresh wound.
“What did I just tell you about moving?” Lam tapped the blade of the knife against the man’s throat.
The man whimpered, throat gulping in nerves. Lam felt it like a pleasure caress down his spine.
Now they were getting somewhere. Lam licked his lips and lifted the blade half an inch off the man’s throat.Testing.
Hoodie grit his teeth, but didn’t move. “What do you want?” He asked roughly.
