Things did not get better for Trenton the longer he talked. Shane's eyes darkened, and by the time he was talking about the needle scars on her arms he was shaking his head.
He waited for him to shut up for half a second, then pressed the knife in. He slipped it under the skin, and cut slowly along his clavicle, neatly skinning the strip of flesh.
Then he pulled the knife out, wiped the blood off of the knife on the curve of his shoulder, and cut Trenton's shirt off. He positioned it again, between his ribs. "I could kill you right now. I'm not going to. I'm going to give you another opportunity to admit what you did." He was patient. He could wait. Even if waiting was hard, even if the twisting, snapping thing in him wanted, more and more insistently, for Trenton to be dead right now.