them,” I said, pulling away to look him in the eyes when I was a little calmer.
His eyes were hard.
I repeated myself. “Don’t you fucking dare kill them, you hear me?”
“Why not?” he asked.
“If you kill them, fuck, if you even beat them up, and you get caught, and you go to jail, how the fuck do you think I’d feel?” I demanded. “They’re gonna have shitty lives and get what’s coming to them, okay? Don’t you dare give it to them. It’s not your job.”
“It is,” he insisted. “It’s my job to take care of you.”
I met his gaze.
“It’s your job to respect me,” I said. “Please listen to what I say.”
He nodded, slowly.
“Can I at least threaten them?” he asked.
I shook my head.
There was a pounding on the door.
We both sat bolt upright.
Merle got up and slid the bolt free and opened the door.
It was Jackson. Holding a rifle.
Dried blood stood out in a harsh line down his pale face. His hair was matted with more blood.
“We’re fucked,” he said.