As he continued, painting his so-called “vivid” picture of what he claimed Bella used to look like—his voice full of derision—I snapped.
Before he could finish his next sentence, I was already on my feet.
I moved around the desk in quick strides and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up out of his chair so fast the mocking smirk was wiped clean off his face.
His hands instinctively shot up, clutching at my wrist in a futile attempt to pry himself free. His voice cracked with both anger and fear.
“What the hell are you—”
I cut him off mid-sentence with a brutal punch to his jaw. The impact sent him stumbling backward, crashing into the chair behind him.
Before he could even regain his footing, I closed the distance, grabbing him by the collar again and slamming another fist square
