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let him get a few good strikes in if for no other reason than me wanting to feel alive. Because there was nothing like a taste of agony to remind me of that, nothing like the kiss of pain to wake me up and get the monster in me growling. And it was growling alright. Baying for damn blood.
fought the urge to roll my eyes back so hard they never returned from the inside of my skull.
Men so easily dismissed our gender in this cutthroat world of gangs and bloodshed, believing the meat swinging between their thighs made them somehow more powerful than us. But strength didn’t equal power. Power could be quiet, unassuming, power could creep into your bed and slit your belly open without you ever seeing it coming. That was the downfall of arrogant men. Assuming women weren’t a threat to their grand empires.
What sweeter way to die than to be carried there on the back of your favourite song?
his tongue slicking his lips in a way that reminded me of a slug slithering between a pair of rotten cucumbers
