Ian's POV
This bastard really didn’t care whether he lived or died.
I stared at him for a few seconds. He looked calm. Too calm.
Then I hit him.
My first punch slammed into his face. Hard. His head snapped to the side.
I didn’t stop.
I hit him again. And again.
My knuckles burned. Blood appeared immediately, running from the corner of his mouth down his chin.
One of my guys grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to stay on his knees.
Carter couldn’t dodge this time.
I kept hitting him until my own breathing turned heavy. Until my chest rose and fell hard. Until my hands shook, not from exhaustion, but from satisfaction.
And the sick part?
He was still laughing.
Not loud. Just a low, broken sound, mixed with blood.
I stopped, my eyes on him.
“You can still laugh?” I asked.
Carte
