MORRISON
He spat blood from his mouth immediately the cloth uncovered his face.
I expected panic, rage or fear. Instead, he smiled. The warehouse light shone on his bruised face, revealing something worse than terror.
Recognition.
“You,” he muttered slowly.
That single word carried relief instead of fear.
I dragged a chair across the concrete floor and sat directly in front of him.
“Yes,” I said calmly, “Me.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, he laughed out quietly, his gaze moving across every corner of the room. For once, I thought he was insane.
His face carried an awkward, unreadable look, and the laugh made him more weird.
He steadied. “You kidn*pped me over her?”
My pulse raised at the way he said that. Loving Quinn was not a weakness, nor did it make me pathetic.
