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"Stop fighting rowl

Oh, noants to negotiate I beganA prier controlled my actions He forcedfeel of a cold sharp object againstback at a dizzying speed, along with the chilling reality ofme," he added in a husky voice, "and I’ll slice your throat right here and now"

For an endlessThe flood of adrenaline coursing throughwet Cold rain beaded off hiistered in the back ofwet and bitterly cold, a heat radiated toward me and I blinked in utter astonish his breath Then he moved his hand fro position My legs were still draped over the console when he straddledfeat in the craain

Loonized the prison uniform underneath a pair of work coveralls, filthy and torn

"I won’t hurt you, Dutch"

The sound of e rushing through every htning illu space, and looked into the deep brown eyes of Reyes Farrow The realization stunned s didn’t getwith the cold, answering a question I’d asked aze was laced with desperation, his actions screa other than desperation was driving him A fierce determination fueled his every ness to killhim anyway

"Take the Jeep," I said, unable to believe I was actually scared of hi I was afraid of growing up I just didn’t knoas him until recently

His eyes narrowed He hovered over aze to roam over my face I wanted to turn away but found it is we had done over the past feeeks The things he was capable of And noas sitting here with a knife at my throat, placed there by the very man who could make me scream out his name in my sleep "It’s yours," I said "Take it I won’t call the police"

"I have every intention of doing just that"

Somehow, this was so different from any other encounter I’d had with him Different because it was him, Reyes Alexander Farrow, Rey’aziel, the son of Satan in the flesh Aside fro, I didn’t have experience with this part of hi a man to shreds between commercial breaks, if the stories Neil Gossett toldillulanced at his watch Only then did I realize his htly, the barest hint of a grin lifting one corner of his ether "Late?"

His sround his teeth, leaned forward, and placed his forehead against ainst h he’d lost consciousness With a jerk, he forced hi wheel for balance, then refocused on ht so long ago, a teenage boy went limp from a violent blow He raised his arht back feelings of eht it This was no teenage boy This was aa knife to my throat Aer that procreated in such places As if growing up in hell hadn’t fueled suchin, he was sure to be now I couldn’t allow compassion to intervene, no irls Maybe he really was his father’s son

I glanced to the side The hand with thewheel as if his life depended on it The fact that he was hurt reminded me of a line he’d told me a while back: Beware the wounded ani this?" I asked