never edning


Something black simmered inside Ronan, slow and ugly. His voice was cyanide and kerosene as he said, “What’s going to happen is I’m going to beat that car and then I’m going to get out of this car and then I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”

“Three-hundred-twenty horses say you’re wrong, man.” Kavinsky scratched his neck. He wore a white tank, and his exposed shoulder was raw and beautiful as a corpse. “But keep dreaming.”