Jerking my eyes away, I mutter, “It’s better if you don’t ask questions.” “Fine. But I don’t want you throwing the first punch. You’ve already got a scarred heel from those shoes you wore and now your arms are scratched. The next person who bruises your body is not going to survive.” My eyes narrow. It genuinely sounds like he would kill someone for me. Possessive bastard. “That isn’t funny.” Amber eyes meet mine. Still. Determined. A predator’s eyes. “Who said I’m joking?”
