Excerpt: Poor Devils

Somehow, they found each other further down the road.

She stared at him, arms crossed underneath her chest, her eyes dark and accusing, a shadowy depth to them that hadn’t been there before.

He stared back coolly, not a touch of shame in his eyes at what he’d done. No pity or sorrow.

They were both injured.

She was worse off than he was.

But still, when she walked up to him, slower and slower, practically limping, he stood still. When she drew her hand back and slapped him across the face, he let her. Then he quickly caught her wrist again on its way back to her side.

He smiled for a split second moment, and let it go.

She took it back, the message clear, and stood straighter; a pride to her that she’d never had locked in that room.

“That was pathetic,” he said, choosing to bypass everything that had happened. “I need to teach you how to punch a man properly.”

Her eyes looked up at him, hooded and opaque. Then they cleared, and she brought back the childlike part of her that had made him feel shame for just a second. She smiled up at him, the trust plain in her face, and said, clearly, “Deal.”