Dante lunged forward, pinning Rook to its cushions, and their weight tipped the sofa over, sending it crashing backward to the floor. They hit the ground hard, spilling over the cushions and sliding across the carpet. Rook gasped with explosive pain, and Dante began to roll away, startled he’d forgotten about the other’s injuries when Rook’s hands dug furrows into Dante’s shirt. “Shit, we can’t do this—” “You fucking leave me like this, and I will hunt down your entire goddamn family and kill them,” Rook growled. “You said it yourself. I’m not a suspect. Shit, if anything, I’m just some guy you know, because I ain’t shit as a witness. So come on, Montoya. Let’s just get this thing out from between us and get on with our damned lives.” The aggression in Rook’s voice was strong, grabbing at Dante’s balls and twisting them hard. Spread out under him, Rook looked wanton, needy almost, and Dante had to admit there was some part of the man’s helpless sprawl that flipped on every single one of his switches.
