Saya lay there, half-buried under the sheets, the remote still clutched as if it would snap in two.
The TV was off, but her mind was in turmoil. Her eyes were uneasy with a strange restlessness, as if she were trying not to cry or see the future. Have you ever felt like that? Chest on fire, muscles locked, mouth barely moving.
"Nash?" she breathed, not even knowing why she was saying it out loud.
Roam, meanwhile, was inert. The guy slept like he was auditioning for a documentary about bears. He snored so loudly the bed shook.
Why did that name bother her so much? Why were her hands shaking and her lungs heaving as if she'd been punched?
Well, buckle up, because to understand, we have to rewind time.
The Dust Dogs, that's what they called themselves. Real thugs, the kind of team you'd see hawking cigarettes behind a gym.
But for a minute? It was destiny.
