"Shut up!"
Tristan Sterling roared.
Connor Grant fell silent and took two steps back.
'A lid for every pot, indeed,' he couldn't help but grumble to himself. 'One refuses to talk, and the other refuses to listen. They're both stubborn as mules!'
Tristan Sterling stared coldly at the woman glaring daggers at him, the corner of his mouth curling into a cruel arc.
"So what if I went after him? What can you do to me?" he said, his eyes dark with malice.
'He admitted it!'
'The bastard!'
Holly Sinclair, furious, raised her hand to slap him.
But he caught her wrist in mid-air.
His dark eyes narrowed, looking as if an iceberg were collapsing within them. The frigid aura he gave off was suffocating.
"Holly Sinclair, if you ever dare to hit me for another man again, I'll rip your arm off!"
He leaned in close to her lips, his every word chilling and sinister.
Holly was in too much pain to speak.
She felt that if he used just a little more force, he would snap her wrist in two.
