“No way,” she says with a shake of her head. “I didn’t ask you. It’s not a question.” I raise my voice. “How else will I know if you try to leave?” She scoffs. “It can be hunting season if you’d like, little rabbit.” I reach for the gun on my hip, but I don’t need to draw it. She lets out a long breath, stands from the chair, and climbs into bed as if she’s crawling into a casket. I fight back a chuckle. She wouldn’t survive a night in prison. Not one single night.
