“Kill… someone?”
The words barely left her mouth before the curled-haired woman felt the strength drain from her legs as if someone had pulled the bones right out of them. Her knees trembled uncontrollably, her heels scraping awkwardly against the pavement as she staggered backward.
Under normal circumstances, if anyone else had said something like that, she would have dismissed it immediately—chalked it up to empty intimidation, the kind of bluff people used when they had nothing real to back it up.
But this… this was different.
Because Dylan Brooks’s gaze was not the gaze of a man posturing.
It was cold. Predatory. Unblinking.
It was the kind of look that didn’t just threaten violence—it promised it, with a terrifying certainty that made the air around him feel thinner, heavier, ha
