Upstairs, Benji dragged Sam into his bedroom by her hair, her arms and legs bound in glowing cuffs of solid light.
He threw her onto the bed, and she bounced once before landing with her hands trapped above her head and her legs crossed defensively.
Benji grinned, his pudgy fingers tracing along the exposed skin of her calf and sliding upward toward the end of her dresss. "You know, I've always wondered what a Crowley would feel like. All that pride, all that arrogance... I bet it tastes sweet when it breaks."
Sam squirmed, her face twisted into a defiant frown, and when Benji leaned in close, she spat directly in his face.
Benji's grin vanished as he raised his hand, palm open, ready to backhand her across the face and Sam flinched, bracing herself for the incoming strike—
But he stopped.
