“f**k!” Miguel roared.
He reached to catch the falling frame of Simon. Holding him in both hands, he snarled, acting out his fangs in frustration. But that did not help matters. The unruly bastard was already making his way away.
Away from the justice that ought to be served to him. His insides fumed with anger. For a split second, he wanted to let go and chase. He’d be back for Simon.
But that was a lie he knew he was suing. He would not be back for him. He always likes to be thorough. What if in the ace of him being thorough, he lost Simon already?
“P-patroa?” Simon called out weakly, the blood making a mess of his lips.
His eyes were drained of life. His Skin was pale. And the stomach in which he as stabbed still had the knife in it. The bleeding from the spot sprouted into the air
