REINER
Fuck it.
I delivered a bare-handed punch to the punching bag, and then another.
Fuck it.
There was no longer a bag in front of me.
There was Garrett.
Then Sheila.
Fuck it.
Then Sebastian.
Then Isabelle.
Fuck it.
And finally me.
"s**t!" I shouted, holding my hand as the smell of blood filled the gym.
The taut skin over my knuckles had split, and it hurt like hell.
A string of curses for which Becks would surely have ripped my balls off if I had even uttered them in front of the pups gushed out of my mouth, and I dropped onto one of the benches, catching my breath and cradling my injured hand to my chest, waiting for my wolf to regenerate my skin.
I glanced at my hand and tried to open it: the middle and index fingers were not moving.
Fantastic, I growle
