“We’ve seen each other five or six times in the last seven years. You really think you know me, know what I want?” Titus said. His voice was tight as a drum. Marquis got up off his cot and walked over to the bars of the cell. He gripped them with his wide ax-head hands and leaned forward. His tightly coiled dreads fell into his face. “Better than anybody who’s still breathing, big brother,” Marquis said.
