Martha lashed out at Horace with a vicious crack of her whip, "Think you're going to get away with this?
Somebody grab him and beat him!"
Two burly men immediately grabbed Horace's chair, ready to drag him away.
"Let go of me, you sons of bitches. Touch my boss and I swear I'll haunt you to your graves."
"What's the point of going after Horace? Even if he ends up unrecognizable, it won't help you vent your anger. Come at me instead. Whatever you plan for him, I'll take it on his behalf."
"You're protective of your pup." Martha hadn't expected that even now, at this critical moment, Rosemary wouldn't show a hint of fear. Clearly, she was toughened by life's rough and tumble; her mental fortitude was just different.
"Now, what shall I do first? Ruin that pretty face of yours or chop off those talented hands?"
Martha pinched Rosemary's chin and was taken aback to find her skin so smooth and soft.
