“You’re mine, wanderer.” “You can’t make someone stay with you.” My hand rises and twirls strands of her blonde hair between my fingers. “I can when that someone saw what you did. There’s no going back after what you witnessed.” “So I’m stuck?” “There’s worse people to be stuck with.” “Worse than two fucking contract killers? And I think it’s more than that. Hitmen don’t get turned on by hits. By killing. You two are sick.”
