He dug the point of the knife into his ribs, withdrew it, moved it along about an inch, and then did it again. And again, and again, like he was calmly serrating him for tearing in half later.
"She was drugged, probably out of her mind, and couldn't have put up a fight to you. She never had a chance, did she?"
He stabbed the knife into his left side, where it would hurt like nothing else but manage not to be fatal. Not immediately, anyway. He was slipping. The growl in his voice got thicker as his fury coiled tighter. "Did she try to push you off? Did she cry? I know--I know she was scared."