“Did she leave you naked, tied to your bed on your own birthday, at your own house? Did she take a picture of you like that?” He spits out the words. “This ho—” “Call her that again…” Benson and I say at the same time, stepping closer to him. “Or what?” Moore demands, but his face pales. “You’ll regret it.” I hold his gaze, ready to do anything to take him down. “If you don’t want anyone to see a picture of you with just a hockey glove on your dick, you’ll back off and leave her alone. If not, I’ll make sure you pay for it.”
