Turning my head, I see a flash of auburn hair, and then a hand wrapped around the handle of the whip, battling his father for control. His amber eyes are murderous pits of black, lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl, and when he raises his fist at Ashby, some part of me recognizes it as protection. The next crack isn’t the whip at all. It’s Lex’s knuckles, connecting with Ashby’s jaw.
AHHHHHHH!!!!!!
