He was in my personal space now, running his hand down my arm and stopping at my hand, where he intertwined our fingers, "I prefer to run from danger." He replied with a wicked smile, "And I prefer the chase."
Vulnerability should never equate to weakness. Amy Wilson had always relied on her older brother to keep her from harm. Even when the dead began to rise, this had not changed. She was not a fighter. Amy couldn't handle a gun, couldn't function around blood and gore, and certainly couldn't live with herself after killi...
"Why are you doing this?" I grab his arm before he storms out the house, but he just shakes me off and keeps walking. "Daryl!" I scream before he can step off the tiny porch. He turns abruptly and storms back over to me. "What?! What do ye want from me?!" He screams, the veins in his neck pop out as he breathes hard...