“Perish, I—”
“Where is he?” I roared, cutting him off.
“Perish, rein it the fuck in,” Fallon shouted.
There was nothing that could reason with my rage right then.
“Where the fuck is he?” I snarled, cocking back and swinging.
Davy’s head whipped to the side as a pained grunt escaped him.
“I’ll break every mother fucking bone in your body. Where the fuck is he?”
Davy’s head lolled forward, refusing to make eye contact.
My hand shifted, grabbing him higher on his neck, forcing his face up to look at me.
“Don’t gotta worry about him being pissed at you,” I warned. “Because I’m going to bathe in his fucking blood for this. Where. Is. He?”
“You’re gonna choke him out,” Fallon said, reaching to grab my arm.
I did something then that I would probably pay for later. But I didn’t give a damn. Not if it meant saving Gracie.
I shoved Fallon with my free arm.
I was vaguely aware of him crashing back on the ground with a little curse. Of men stepping closer to me.
“No. No,” Fallon said, making them fall back. “He’s too pissed. He’ll tear through all of us if we get in his way.”
And that was why Fallon was president and not me. He could be logical when emotions were running high.
“Where would he take her?” I snapped, pulling Davy forward, then smacking his head back into the wall again.
“Take who?”
All that came out of me to that was a growl.
Then my hand tightened, lifted.
Up, up, up.
Not low enough to press on his carotid artery, to stop blood flow to the brain, to let him pass out.
Oh, no.
This was a slow, deliberate,painfulway to choke someone out.
The movies, they got this shit wrong.
It wasn’t fast.
It was slow.
Agonizing.
Terrifying.
Davy grabbed at my hands.
