His words, those cruel, manipulative words, sliced through me, dredging up every painful memory, every moment of self-doubt and shame. He saw my vulnerability, and he savored it. He always did.
"Let go of her!”
The voice was a low growl, cutting through the din like a chainsaw through pine. It wasn't the booming Head Santa voice, but the deep, resonant tone I'd come to associate with unwavering command. Ronan.
Chad's head snapped up. His eyes, full of his usual self-satisfied malice, met Ronan's. He paused, his grip on my wrist momentarily loosening.
Ronan stood there, a towering presence of dark denim and contained fury. He hadn't bothered to change out of his Head Santa uniform, not fully. The custom-tailored red velvet coat was gone, but the crisp white shirt, now unbuttoned at the
