QUINN

My cheek stung with an agonizing throbbing. I tilted my head back, my gaze meeting the pair of cold, dark eyes staring down at me without a trace of remorse.

I didn't utter a sound for several long seconds. I waited for the sharp ache to dull, waited until the metallic taste of blood sat heavy on my lips and my breath hitched in my chest before I lowered my head, staring down at the mud clinging to my boot—at the utter helplessness bleeding off me.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking, barely audible beneath his heavy breathing.

His hand dug violently into my hair, pulling it back...