Something pulls on my T-shirt and I frown. If one of those sorry fucks came back for round two… My thoughts trail off when I see two long fingers curled in the material so firmly, it stretches beneath the pressure. I stare up at Brandon, and the way he looks at me does shit I definitely do not approve of. He’s like a kicked fucking puppy, which is miles apart from his usual condescending asshole image. “Thank you,” he whispers softly, almost airily. Fuck this asshole and that deep voice of his. I have to get out of here.
