Maeve backhanded him again, the sharp crack echoing through the room.
"Yeah, I hit you," she said smoothly. "Got a problem with that?"
Donovan had spent his life surrounded by women, but he had never encountered one this utterly brazen.
Taking two brutal hits to the face ignited a blinding rage inside him.
"You crazy bitch, I'll beat you to death!"
Raising his arm, he prepared to strike her back with full force.
He was always the one handing out the beatings. No woman had ever possessed the sheer audacity to challenge him, let alone strike him.
She clearly had a death wish.
But as he raised his heavy hand, his fury quickly morphed into sick excitement.
Beating a beautiful, arrogant girl like her until she was sobbing and begging on her knees would be an entirely new thrill.
However, his twisted fantasy never had the chance to play out.
The second his arm went up, Maeve drove her foot ruthlessly into the center of his chest.
The impact sent his heavy frame flying backward like a discarded ragdoll.
With a sickening thud, Donovan crashed hard onto the floorboards.
He let out an agonizing shriek as the impact radiated through his spine.
Maeve slipped off the bed, advancing on him slowly, her presence radiating a lethal, suffocating aura.
She slammed the sole of her sneaker onto his cheek, pressing down until his face deformed under her weight.
Staring down at the pathetic man beneath her, she sneered.
"Come on, repeat what you just said. Who is a bitch?"
The blinding pain short-circuited Donovan's brain.
He never imagined there would come a day when he would be pinned under a woman's shoe, humiliated like a dog.
He spat out a curse, "I'm cursing a bitch!"
This was unbelievable. This arrogant little psycho was playing a game far more twisted than his own.
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