Scout’s POV
"Let her go, you savage bastard, or I will carve her throat to the spine!" Claire screams, her weight pressing the jagged shard of glass harder into the skin under my jaw.
The doors do not just open. They splinter. The oak frame cracks with a sound like a gunshot, and Nixon fills the space, his face stripped of anything human.
"Get off her," Nixon says.
His voice is too quiet. It is a dead, flat whisper that freezes the air in the room, but his movement is a blur of brute speed. Before Claire can drag the edge across my windpipe, his hand locks around her forearm. Bones pop. A wet, crunching snap echoes against the bare walls as he twists her wrist until the glass drops from her limp fingers.
"Nixon, stop!" I choke out, my hands scraping against the floorboards as I try to
