Thalia Crimsonclaw's POV
I watched calmly, wrapping the handkerchief around my knuckles. He looked at me, lips quirking in a relaxed smile, and said, "You good to go?"
… He fucking said that?
The fuck?
Veins bulged on my forehead. I stared at him, this infuriating man, who didn't even show a flicker of worry or fear, not a shadow of concern in his eyes, not for me, not for the pain thudding in my hands.
A-Am I not special to him?
I shook my head, shoving the thought aside, and forced myself to focus on the punching bag. I started punching. As my fists struck, I caught him out of the corner of my eye—still watching me with that maddening, calm expression.
… Why am I so pissed off now?
I didn't get it. But my anger kept growing, coiling inside me, fed by the way he just stood there, so calm, so detached, as if nothing at all had happened.
