Kane
The woman scrambled toward him on her knees. “Mr. Evans!” she wailed. “She attacked me! She’s insane! You saw what she did—she stripped me in front of everyone!”
I didn’t miss the way she clung to his trouser leg.
Or how he slowly looked down at her fingers gripping the fabric.
Then, just as slowly, he stood.
She must have expected protection.
Comfort.
Maybe even fury on her behalf.
Instead, Kane gently—almost lazily—peeled her fingers off his pants like she was something mildly inconvenient.
“You went into the kitchen,” he said, voice calm.
She blinked through tears. “I—I was just—”
“You shoved someone first.”
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
“You threatened them,” he continued mildly.
The softness in his tone was deceptive. There was steel beneath it. Cold, polished steel.
