[ Her eyes are waiting for him when he turns to glare at her, faint crow's feet betraying her amusement — and that damnably smug smirk too. This woman is, without a doubt, a complete and utter bitch. And she is not sorry. Not even a little fucking bit. She lets him hold her wrist almost as a consolation prize, knowing full well they're both aware that she's humoring him — humoring the idea that such a half-hearted grip could ever protect him from her. ]

You did follow a strange and violent woman to a motel. Seems like the kind of situation where being killed might be possible. [ Dryly: ] Maybe I'm a serial killer who fucks men like you to death.