“I’m going to ask again. Who did this to you?” My hand is still gripping her chin, her strong jaw, as she holds my gaze and says, “Why do you care?” Then she’s laughing bitterly, the sound vibrating under my fingers. “Because I don’t tolerate my toys being played with.” She is going to hate that. “Your what—?” She stops, her eyes smoldering, her temper rising. “Is that what you think I am? Some toy you can play with?” “Yes. And clearly quite a fragile one at that.” Plagues, if I wasn’t already going to hell, I am now.
