His seascape eyes were trained on the opening door with wariness and unresolved fear. He caught a glimpse of red hair and was pervaded with a crushing degree of anger, it was hot enough to burn and Trenton bristled against his restraints. "Oh, you, you fucking bi-"
But then the woman took another step into the polished foyer, and his angry hiss slipped into muted confusion. The redhead was not Boyd, like he'd momentarily led himself to believe. In fact, aside from the red hair, Trenton very quickly assessed that she looked nothing like Boyd. She was easily taller, and had curves like a Cadillac.
His brushstroked eyebrows slid into appraising and speculative arches, and in that moment, Trenton very well might have forgotten that he was bleeding. Already, the cuts on his chest were itching with the promise of healing over soon.
"Help?" His weak plea wasn't even discernible over the blaring music.