Page 142 of Terms of Exposure
"You got lucky," he snarled.
A humorless laugh ripped free. "You are so goddamn lucky I love that woman in there, or you'd be a puddle on the ground right now."
He laughed. "Love? Emma?"
Emma.MyEmma.
"Excuse me?”
He laughed harshly. "Nobody could love that cunt—"
My vision narrowed to a point. Him. That word.
My fist slammed into his nose, bone cracking on impact.
Oops.
"Thought your owner told you no more violence," he choked, blood pouring freely now.
"She'll understand," I ground out.
Breathe, Damien.
Stay in control.
She won't give you a second chance.
I dragged in air, forcing my hands still as I pulled out my phone.
Garrett's fist came out of nowhere. Sloppy. Desperate. Caught me wrong on the chin—more wrist than knuckle.
A punch thrown by a man who'd only ever hit people who couldn't hit back.
And that wasn't me.
His expression shifted when I took it in stride—panic flickering as he realized his mistake.
Too late.
The monster in me lifted its head, fire threading hot and familiar through my veins.
Just one.
Emma would understand.
…Wouldn't she?
I wound back and gave him a real one. Proper form. Full rotation.
He hit the ground hard.
"Come on." I stood over him.
Screams echoed in my skull, drowning out reason.
"Didn't you want a fight?" My voice dropped into something barely recognizable. "Wasn't that the plan? Show up at her door. Throw your weight around. Call my woman acunt."
He scrambled backward, blood smearing the carpet.
