Font Size:
A grieving lunatic.
And foolish.
He undid my hands next and then that old part of me. The side of me that I’d hidden from everyone for the last year and a half came roaring back to me.
I began to analyze the room, the exits.
The lock around my ankle.
Whoever the fuck Cheyenne had been, I was not she.
And she was most definitely not me.
What was a lock to a thief…
Nothing but a murder weapon because when I got loose, and make no mistake, I was going to get loose.
I was going to beat Miguel within an inch of his fucking life.
