"It figures," she was saying. "Bachelors always go for those pot pies. Hungry Man, right?"
"Right." The word was a dry cough.
"Bet you've got a big appetite, a big guy like you."
His fear receded before a flare-up of anger. What did she mean by that? She'd insulted him just then, hadn't she? Hadn't she, the little bitch?
Big, she'd called him. But he wasn't big. Five-ten wasn't big at all. So what had she really meant? That he was fat? He wasn't. A hundred eighty pounds was not excessive for his height. And a good deal of it was muscle. His upper body, particularly. Strong arms. Powerful hands. Hands that could snap this cunt's neck with one twist of the wrists. One twist—
Suddenly he wasn't afraid anymore. He had never been afraid. She couldn't frighten him. No woman could. He was Jaen Songok. He was the Reaper.
He smiled and handed her the jar of olive oil. "Here you go."
"Thanks so much."
"Is there anything else you need?"
