“No, you don’t, trust me. You’re too young to understand what kind of man I am.” “I’m not that young,” I said grimly. “I’m fifteen and a half.” “Fifteen and a half,” he repeated with a strange smile. He straightened and lifted the container. “Thanks for this.” My eyes were drawn to the bandages around his wrists. Blood tinged them red. “You’re bleeding.” Savio glanced down at his arm, and his expression darkened. “It’s nothing.” His voice held an edge despite the familiar smirk he gave me. “Now go back home.”
