"It's not my fault," she cried, her voice frail, "It really isn't my fault..."
She trembled as she crawled forward, trying to escape the shadow cast by the man. He stepped down, pressing on her shoulder blade with his foot, pinning her upper body to the ground as if nailed.
The man bent down to look at her, the ash from the cigarette he held between his fingers sprinkled intermittently on her face. She held her breath, recalling despairingly a time long ago when Trenton Smith had also leaned over her like this.
Such a beautiful face, but how could she forget the terror he had brought her, like a demon?
He was only gentle with Norris Moore; how could she forget how he had casually destroyed the life she had built with a mere wave of his hand?
Abigail Moore was so frightened that she didn't even dare to cry out, she looked at him timidly, her eyes brimming with tears, wishing she could hug his legs and beg him to spare her.
