He shook his head, chuckled, though it was devoid of humor. "Your funeral, lady." But he led her down an alley as he contemplated just slitting her throat here and now. It was quiet enough. She wasn't prepared for it.
But her stance was guarded. Fighting in such close quarters wouldn't be to his advantage; he was surely stronger than her, but he preferred distance to maneuver in a fight.
The empty building was not far, and no one had bothered locking the door in years. The first floor boasted a pitted floor, a sagging ceiling, and its share of rat droppings in the corners, but it was private. He strode across the room, keeping her in his peripheral vision, then turned to face her, crossed his arms. "Let's get this bullshit over with."