“Bastard, back,” I said, tugging him to one side. I wasn’t about to let a dog take a bullet for me.
Bitch so wouldn’t approve of that.
Besides, a part of me suspected that Mannequin was going to let me live so he could make me watch while he killed my friends and followers.
A part of me thinks that is absolutely correct.
I stared at his blank, featureless face, praying my instincts were telling me the truth.
The first rule of making yourself a human shield when you’re not actually that defensively tough (Skitter’s armor is tough, but we still don’t know if it’s bulletproof): There’s gotta be something keeping the attacker from just killing you first.
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