If his face wasn’t so fucking goofy, I’d punch him. His nose would pop. Those eyes would meet the soft under belly of my thumbs. Lips would rip off between my teeth all while tenderizing his man meat with the blunt force trauma of my knee.
Face. That’s it. The hold back and hang up.
No. That’s a lie.
It was the gun and his smile, threats of blowing me away if I said more.
I worked his face over something special in my mind though.
He’d take it, then sit back and watch the world burn.
“Here’s the vial.”