My stomach kicks at that. I shove it down. The baby doesn’t need to hear any of this.
“So we improvised,” he concludes. “And here we are.”
There’s a long pause. He’s giving me the floor. Your turn, sweetheart. Dance for me. Make it pretty.
A lot of things could be said here, in the gap that follows. I don’t know how many of them would ever matter. It’s clear to me that DeMaris has made up his mind and nothing I tell him will change it. He knows what he wants and where he intends to shuffle me next. I’m just one more item in a ledgerbook.
And if that’s the case, well, f**k it. Why bother making it easy for him?
No, I won’t go quietly. I’ll fight until the end. I’ll scratch and claw at his throat.
And yes, I’m sure the prison guards will come tear me off of him and beat me senseless.
