The Predator

Zayne was stable.

Fucking finally.

The doctor had done something, messed with his drips, stabilized him, and I should’ve been relieved. Should’ve.

Instead, as soon as we stepped out of that goddamn room, I had the bastard by the throat.

His pulse hammered against my palm, his body dangling just slightly off the ground, feet scraping against the pristine floor. The moment his hands came up to claw at mine, I squeezed harder. I wanted to feel his windpipe give out. Wanted to hear the desperate little gasps for air as he realized just how fucking close he was to meeting his god.

“What did you give him?”...