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Unfortunately, his reflexes are good. He doesn’t drop his weapon, stumble back, or make any other tactical error. He simply responds in kind, shoving the muzzle of his Glock under my jaw. We stand like that, elbows locked, weapons loaded, ready to blow each other’s head off, until he says through gritted teeth, “She’s alive?” “Yes. No thanks to you.” “Where are you keeping her?” “Don’t waste my time with stupid questions.” “I should f*****g kill you!” “Probably. But if you do, she’ll starve to death. Alone. Is that really what you want?” He curses violently in Gaelic. It’s obviously taking every ounce of his self-control not to pull the trigger. “She likes you, you know.” Taken off guard by that, Spider blinks. “What?” “It’s the only reason you’re not dead right now. She asked m
- Writer
