The weak man on the floor, Ronan, blinked up at the man who stood over him, the sunlight casting his face in shadow. He still felt the sting of his own words—Sorry, but I don't swing that way—ringing in the air like a hit gong. His stomach twisted with dread, humiliation, and intimidation. In his weakened state, the thought flickered that if this towering stranger truly was overcome with some kind of lustful urge, he wouldn't have the strength to fight him off. He cut the horrifying thought short, but the silence that followed was unbearable.
"You misunderstand," the man said finally, his voice steady but edged with faint irritation. "I'm not offering you that. I'm offering you strength. A chance to stand again, to fight again. A door you can open, if you choose."
