He cinched it between his fingers painfully tight. She looked up at him in fear and, maybe somewhere buried, a little hope. He felt his other hand ris.... He was ready to slap her. He wanted to beat the sadness from her. She didn't deserve to be sad. The killers shouldn't cry at the funerals. His hand raised, the muscle in his neck twitched, the tendons in his shoulders and forearms readied for the signal. And then his hand paused to rub at his cheek and his other hand fell away from her head.He. “I’m sensing she’s not your favourite person.”“Why wouldn’t she be? Erica’s everyone’s favourite person,” the brunette protested sourly. “Especially men … They’re all like you. They love that sugar-and-spice, butter-wouldn’t-melt routine of hers, so sweetly sexy but yet so very innocent. She’ll laugh at your dirty jokes, but in that ‘Oh I’m so shocked, you’re so bad’ way she has. You all fucking lap it up. It’s pathetic.”“Well there is something intoxicating about her type,” he said. More

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