The wrecked man was smiling. With his battered face looking like it had undergone a train wreck, he had the gall to uplift the corners of his mouth in pure exultation, giving him the outlook of a dangerous pirate.
“You’re an asshole Keith Bennett,” she grumbled as his mouth stretched into a bigger grin, although it was obvious from his winces that it must be hurting like hell.
He shrugged. “You don’t belong to him,” he informed insolently.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” she corrected austerely, approaching him to inspect his wounds, the swell around his eyes were turning into an ugly purple color with yellow blotches. His lips looked also pumped, the bruises protruding with ruptured skin and dried blood but still formed in a rictus. “What are so happy about?” she muttered crossly, walking
