King sits back with his cup of coffee and watches me devour breakfast. I don't even care. I do, however, notice that the hard lines on his forehead smooth out as he relaxes. I would say it makes him look softer but nothing about him is soft. This morning he's in black military pants and a black T-shirt that molds to his chest. His bicep bulges as he lifts his coffee cup to his mouth. A question goes off in my mind that won't leave me. No straps this morning but that doesn't mean his chest is any less defined. He said he will kill me and I believe every word yet I'm unafraid, which is so unlike me. I guess it could be the food. For some reason the thought of my pending death isn't worrying me. Maybe I've faced my fears and come out the other side a tad bit stronger. Who knows? It's just nic
