A large hand grabs me by the bicep, strong fingers digging into my skin and making me come to an abrupt stop. Shocked, I look up and make eye contact with Camden, wondering why he has a viselike grip on me. I hate that I can’t get out of the hold. I hate that he might be able to feel the shakiness of my arms and mistake it for fear instead of what it truly is—rage. My attempt to make eye contact with him fails because he’s looking over my shoulder at the terrible excuse of a man behind me. “No,” Camden clips, his voice so calm and collected that it’s almost scary. “She stays. You leave,
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