Daddies And Their Naughty Angel
“The temperature inside reached over two thousand degrees Fahrenheit. That’s hot enough to melt steel. Hot enough to turn bone to ash.”
“Stop,” I said, but he kept talking, each word a nail in a coffin I didn’t want to accept.
His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my jaw as he forced me to look at him. “Even if he survived the initial collapse, and somehow made it through the fire, the building came down on top of him. Tons of rubble. There’s nothing left, Angel. Not even bones. Not even his ghost—”
“STOP TALKING!” I was screaming again, hitting him, trying to make him stop talking. “Stop stop stop—”