"Man, the only day I wouldn't piss
on you is if you were on fire, you fucking freak."
Some part of Alan knew that this person was laughable, a Renfield eating
bugs. But that voice of reason was too quiet to be heard over the animal
screech that was trying to work its way free of his throat.
He could smell Krishna, cigarettes and booze and club and sweat, see the
gold flecks in his dark irises, the red limning of his eyelids. Krishna
raised a hand as if to slap him, smirked when he flinched back.
Then he grabbed Krishna's wrist and pulled hard, yanking the boy off his
feet, slamming his chest into the railing hard enough to shower dried
spider's nests and flakes of paint to the porch floor.
"I'm every bit the monster my brother is," he hissed in Krishna's
ear. "I *made* him the monster he is. *Don't squirm*," he said, punching
Krishna hard in the ear with his free hand. "Listen. You can stay away
from me and you can stay away from my family, or you can enter a world
of terrible hurt. It's up to you. Nod if you understand."
Krishna was still, except for a tremble. The moment stretched, and Alan
broke it by cracking him across the ear again.
"Nod if you understand, goddammit," he said, his vision going fuzzily
black at the edges. Krishna was silent, still, coiled. Any minute now,
he would struggle free and they'd be in a clinch.
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