Chapter 11 · How Long Till You Blow?

"Get your hands off me!" Sloane shrieked, her voice cracking as she tried to shove Kael away.

He didn't budge. He had her pinned against the rusted metal siding of a shipping container, his forearm pressed firmly against her collarbone. Not enough to choke her, but enough to let her know she wasn't going anywhere.

"Shut up and listen," Kael snapped. His voice was a low growl, vibrating through his chest and right into her skin. "Your ex just told me you're a walking bomb. You want to tell me why the hell you're ticking, or do I just carry you to the nearest crater?"

Sloane stopped struggling, her breath coming in jagged hitches. She glared up at him, her eyes shimmering with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "I don't know what he's talking about. I'm not a bomb, Kael. I'm just... I'm just me."

"Liars usually blink more," Kael muttered. He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. He could smell the ozone and expensive perfume clinging to her, a sharp contrast to the stench of saltwater and rotting trash that defined the Neon Slums.