Blackwater Islands When we’re both better at life

The Saints.

At that a dangerous look would glint in his eyes, one of primal ferocity. And for the first time in a long time he laughs. It’s maniacal — nothing cute about it — and his ribs rock with its effort.

“I like the sound of that.” Is all he would say, eyes growing dark and malicious with a touch of mirth swirling within them.