For a second, I stood over him—breathing heavily, heart racing, adrenaline flooding my system.
Then I moved again.
I dropped onto his chest and pinned him beneath me.
His eyes widened in shock.
“Get—off—” he gasped.
I didn’t let him finish.
My fists came down.
Precise. Relentless.
Nose.
Cheekbone.
Eye socket.
Each blow fueled by memory.
His breath on my neck.
His laughter while his men held me down.
The way he had told me resistance only made it worse.
Blood sprayed across my knuckles and splattered onto the floor.
His face began to distort under the force of my strikes.
Pain twisted across his features.
He tried to raise his arms to shield himself, but I grabbed his wrists and slammed them back down.
“You don’t get to touch me again,” I spat.
Another punch.
“Ever.”
Another.
“Again.”
His head jerked violently with each impact until his resistance weakened.
Harris laughed.
It was sharp. Incredulous. Almost entertained.
“A woman beating a man unconscious...” He shook his head as if impressed despite himself. “Incredible.”
He reached into his jacket slowly, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette with deliberate calm. The metal clicked. Flame sparked.
He brought it to his lips, inhaling as smoke curled into the stale air.
