“Don’t, Zara,” he snarls.
I meet his gaze. "Don't what?"
“Don’t talk about things you don't f*****g understand.”
“Now you don’t, Knox.”
“Don’t what?” he echoes.
“Don’t tell me what the f**k to do."
That's when his massive hand shoots out and closes around my arm hard enough to hurt. “Listen to me, you stupid bitch.”
I jerk back. “Let me go!”
Instead, he shoves me against the brick wall beside the entrance, the impact knocking the air from my lungs as pain tears hot and sharp through my healing side. For a second, I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move.
Knox leans in, his grip bruising my flesh, his face close enough that I can see how little self-control he has left.
“You’re going to stop f*****g around,” he hisses. “You’re going to let things carry on exactly the way they wer
