He had hoped, of course, that Lazarevic hadn't suspected him. That they just happened to be walking the same street -- but his luck hadn't extended quite that far. Nate chokes and immediately latches onto Lazarevic's wrist, digging his nails in and struggling to make sure he has air to breathe. Its a strain on his whole body.

"I'm not into genocidal men," he grunts, still trying to struggle out of his grip to get away from the press of his thumb. Its making him dizzy. "And you need a new hobby."