The Actor's Contract
Then his mouth curves, and he hisses, low and cutting — “Oh no, sweetie. I’m THE SHIT. You’re a PIECE OF SHIT. Big difference.”
Cindy’s finger toys with the trigger, casual, playful, like she’s deciding whether to pull or not. Seconds stretch, thick and breathless, my heart hammering in my ears so loud it’s deafening.
Then she drops her arm with a snicker, the sound jagged, unhinged. I drag in a gasp of air, lungs burning.
She’s not normal. Not even close. And not Jackson abnormal … this is a totally different kind. Definitely one sick daughter-of-a-bitch.
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