"What the fuck are you doing here?" I spat, the words coming out like jagged glass. My eyes didn't stay on him; they flickered desperately toward the hallway, the kitchen, the bathroom door—anywhere Chloe might be hiding. The air in the room felt heavy, smelling of his cheap cigarettes.
"What am I doing? What, you can't see? I am chilling," Gingerbeard smiled, the expression never reaching his dead, grey eyes. He shifted his massive weight, the leather of my couch groaning under him as he made himself more comfortable, stretching his injured leg out with a wince.
"Chilling at my place? How the fuck did you even get in here... and where's Chloe? What the fuck did you do to her!" I barked, my voice cracking with a mix of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated terror. I started edgeing toward the end table, my fingers twitching.
His eyes tracked my every vibration, calm and predatory. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Druski Hart."
