“No, you didn’t.”
The smirk is gone, replaced by a surge of anger so violent it makes me want the man alive again, just so I could kill him once more for daring to lay a hand on what is mine.
“He touched you.” My voice is barely human.
I step toward her, then another, until I am so close her vanilla scent floods my senses, and despite everything a groan slips from my throat.
Her pink nails gleam in the dim light, still wrapped around one of her blades.
“I am so fucking angry with you.”
“Why?” she demands.
“Because,” I say, brushing a fallen strand behind her ear, forcing myself not to go back and empty the rest of my magazine into the corpse, “you lost focus and let a man hurt you.”
The thought of her bleeding makes something savage twist inside my chest. If she had been hurt any more… fuck, I cannot handle the mere image.
“You should not have done that.”
“Done what?”
“Let another man touch you.”
“He hit me,” she snarls. “Not fucked me.”
I close the distance even further, until there is no space left between us, my hand rising to circle her throat.
“I. Will. Kill. You,” I say, holding her tighter, “if you ever dare speak of you and another man ever again.”
My grip hardens. “I will burn said man and proceed to fuck you on his ashes, just so you never forget exactly who you belong to.”
Her expression changes at the word fuck, as though a bucket of ice has been thrown over her, and she steps back abruptly, knocking my hand away.
She stares at me for a long moment, hatred and loathing spilling off her in waves.
I only smirk.
A reaction from her is a victory in my book, even when that reaction is hate.
Because it still means she feels something.
“Don’t follow me,” she says, her voice hard, taking another step back.
I take one after her.
“I mean it,” she snaps.
I smirk. “You are taking a helicopter fuck knows where, and you think I am just going to stay here, especially after someone just tried to kill you, kidnap you, or hurt you,” I finish on a growl, because the thought of someone daring to lay hands on my girl sends me spiralling all over again.
I advance towards her.
“Markev,” she says, lifting the blade in front of her, “if you take another step, I will force you to stop in another way.”
A rough laugh slips from me.
“Baby, not even death will stop me. I will come hunting you… and you still will not be rid of me.”
“Markev,” she warns again, “one more step.”
