Peel open car

An ambulance sat in the driveway but didn’t move. In the back of a police car was a middle-aged man who smelled of the ice-rink shooter. Her animal mind refused to piece it together, processing only what was before her: the shooter caged, blood in the air, the noise and bustle of authorities. Ryn dropped from the roof and approached the police car, fingers curling. She’d peel the car’s chrome shell to get the meat inside.


Chapter 14, Page 220