Doyle steps into the room, his knuckles white and the veins prominent on the back of his balled fists. His gaze was filled with murderous intent as he glared at me like a predator about to rip through its prey.
So it was true... I didn't believe it but... He really loves this guy... Such an expression, if looks could kill...
I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut as I awaited the inevitable fist to my face. However, one second passed, then another... And another... Eventually, I pried my eyes open with caution, still puzzled as to why he simply left me be... Or whether it was merely a figment of my imagination.
I scanned the area by the door, knitting my brows as the entryway seemed empty and void of life. Was it merely a figment of my imagination? Was I stressed? Why would I think of that guy?
