I pull my hand out of his and take five long steps back. He watches, his eyes dark. “If I tell you to crawl on your knees for me, will you?” “For you?” A corner of his mouth lifts, as though he’s saying, That’s all? “Over the proverbial mile of broken glass.” Skepticism lingers. Words. Such easy words. He drops to his knees. My lips part as a stunned breath leaves me.
