I still don’t move. Don’t turn to look at him. Don’t try to run. I guess this is what they mean by “petrified.”
Tacone grabs the sleeve of my jacket and tugs it off me, tossing it onto the floor. “Where in the f**k do you think you’re going?”
Oh s**t. He has the most effective angry voice I’ve ever heard. I’m surprised I don’t piss myself.
I still don’t turn around—just stand facing the door like it somehow makes me safe if I can’t see him.
His hand crashes down on my ass.
I gasp in surprise, but honestly, the spank is welcome.
It’s not a gun. Not a wire around my neck. It’s not even a backhand. It’s a slap. On my ass. Simple and s****l.
He slaps me again, hard.
I bring my hands to the door to brace myself, spread my fingers, push my ass out.
I hear Junior’s breath rasp out in a r
