7. Clinging.
Katarina.
A gun pointed at my head is what keeps me walking.
Fucking asshole.
Have I said I hate him already?
"No looking back, move," he growls, forcing me to walk barefoot over cold, dry forage.
"I'm freezing."
"You couldn’t. You’re already made of ice," he says, humorless.
"Go to hell, Killian. My feet hurt, you motherfucker."
"My finger’s itching to pull the trigger. Don’t tempt me, Katarina."
"As if you were capable of doing it."
"Want to bet?"
I look at him from the corner of my eye, the gun still aimed in my direction.
Asshole.
I walk, complaining under my breath while he comes behind me, barking orders. Right, left, turn here, stop… I want to shoot him myself just to make him shut up once and for all.
Killian carried me for less than five seconds over hi
