There’s a part of me that welcomes the threat in his eyes while another piece of me promises I won’t go easy. My blood doesn’t run cold. Sweat doesn’t bead my brow, and there’s no hesitation weighing my muscles down as his eyes stay fixed on mine. All I can think is, if he’s going to kill me, maybe sooner rather than later might not be such a bad thing, and I wonder how many of them I could take with me before I go.
