“He would’ve killed you,” Rhys went on, tucking his face against my throat so that his nose skimmed my shoulder lightly.
“I didn’t want to kill him.”
“Own it. There’s no going back now.” He used his grip on my hands to twist the glass by increments, and watched Donald’s face twist into an expression of agony. “No apologies to be made either. Look at where you stabbed him.”
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