Zion Prescott's expression was somber.
"No, Jude, I'm sorry for keeping some things from you before, but I have nothing to do with the woman in your arms anymore."
Jude Grant looked at his uncle, not much older than himself, yet impeccably dressed like a city elite, and for the first time, what welled up inside him wasn't respect but deep disgust.
He couldn't even distinguish whether it was disgust for Zion Prescott or for himself.
He deliberately held Claire Sinclair tighter, gripping her waist in a dominant manner.
"Claire, my uncle says he has nothing to do with you, so why have you two been keeping this from me? Hmm?"
"Let me guess?"
Jude Grant gave a detached smile, and in Claire Sinclair's somewhat pained gaze, suddenly kissed her heavily.
It was like biting, or perhaps some inexplicable form of possession.
Yet, there was no love inside.
...
Claire Sinclair's lips were bitten by Jude, the bright red blood flowed directly out.
