He hooked his fingers around the inside of the steadily tightening loop, pulling hard to keep from being strangled. At the same time, his other hand shot into his pocket, searching blindly and pulling out a gun. Backwards. He flipped it up, caught it, and held it steady, pointed directly at her chest.
He didn't say anything--he couldn't. He was busy with staring at her, attempting not to die, and holding the gun as level as possible. But his eyes spoke volumes--genuine anger, maybe even some faint notes of betrayal. And smiling, of course. He never once stopped smiling.