“It’s my fault, Dean,” Adrian says, hands held up in surrender as if his knuckles aren’t splattered with blood. Freddy’s blood. I cast a glance toward the Lacrosse player and cringe. His nose is gushing blood, his eyes swollen shut – the extent of damage Adrian was able to do in three seconds is baffling. If they’d been alone, if Adrian had been given ten more seconds unbothered… It makes my stomach lurch.
oh he was about to kill that man
