At that moment, upon hearing what Abigail just said though her voice was faint, barely a whisper, and her lips trembled as she struggled to form the words Jerry's expression changed. Something deep in him snapped.
He clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning pale white. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened like a storm had just settled behind them. He took one glance at Abigail—beaten, weak, slouched on the floor—and that was all it took. He didn't need to hear her clearly. He didn't need full context. What he saw was enough.
"You touched my wife…" Jerry muttered, each word coming out slow and deliberate.
One of the men laughed nervously, trying to play it off. "Hey, don't take it personal—"
Before he could finish, Jerry snapped his head toward him and roared with venom, "Shut up!"
The air inside the room shifted.
