JEREMY
"Where is she?"
I slam Kathrina against the wall, my hand tightening around her throat just enough to wipe that smug little smirk off her face.
I don't have a habit of laying hands on women—unless they beg for it behind closed doors—but I'm a hair's breadth away from losing every ounce of control I have left.
After watching the video of her emptying a fucking bottle over Hope—my own girl—I'd broken every speed limit on the East Coast getting to Kathrina's greenhouse.
The party is over by the time I arrive. A few drunk stragglers remain, scattered like debris. I find Kathrina holding court in the kitchen, laughing like she hasn't just ruined what was supposed to be a happy night for Hope.
One look from me, and she follows me into the hallway, her heels clicking like she owns the damn place.
She does anyways. But who fucking cares?
"Why don't you squeeze a little harder?" she purrs,. "I know you want to."
