Her mouth had gone dry. Her mind raced with thoughts of what might happen to her next. She realized now that he hadn’t buttoned his shirt yet. She moistened her lips, "There were a few like that." Sherryl had come across many such people in her street, those who had spread untrue rumors, turning others against her and her foster family. Dallion raised a brow, a wicked smile forming on his lips, "Of course. It’s no surprise. The lower class has all the time in the world to gossip, don’t they?" His smile widened, but before Sherryl could voice her opinion, he continued. "There’s not much difference between the lower class and the higher class," Sherryl said, her voice steady despite feeling his finger still resting on her shoulder. It felt like a venomous spider, ready to bite at any moment. "There isn’t," he agreed, surprising her. "Why do you look shocked? We can agree on a few things," he grinned, and for the third time, she noticed the glint of his shiny gun. Was he planning
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