Rush
I’m not going to lie—the sight of Fallon in that tiny, little costume, strung up to a stripper pole, beaten and bloody, is one of the sexiest things I’ve seen in my entire life.
But it’s just so unimaginative.
“Really, Damon,” I say as I c**k my gun again, shaking my head. “For four years, I admired the way you played the game, toyed with her emotions, and manipulated her into actually wanting to be with you. This is just… sad.”
He glares at me. He’s dropped to a kneel, and is clutching his shoulder like a wimp. He doesn’t have a gun; I have nothing to fear. “My guys are watching my perimeter,” he warns. “I don’t know how you got past them, but—”
“Your guys are dead. Really, you’re such an amateur. Now, tell me. How much did you tell her?”
“I told her that her mother was a c
