The petit woman sitting on Dean’s lap has curly long blonde hair. She is wearing a short spaghetti-strap red dress with heavy makeup and bright red lips to match her dress. He looks at her with anger in his eyes and his hands up.
When he looked up and saw it was me who had entered the room. The anger turned to fear. The woman was smirking as if to tell me, he chose her, and she had staked a claim on him.
“Mi alma, it is not what you thi–” Dean starts to say, but stops as soon as he sees the blank look on my face as I walk over to them.
As soon as I step up to Dean and this woman, she starts to open her mouth. I don’t give her a chance to make a sound as I grab her by the throat, pick her up. I take a couple of steps and slam her against the bookshelf. I look her in the eyes with death
