Enzo
Honey was glaring daggers at me, her petite bandaged fist caught in my palm. Her hands were so small that mine completely engulfed hers. Her golden-brown eyes locked with mine, her upper lip curling into a look of utter anger.
She looked about as intimidating as a doe in a meadow.
I almost felt bad that she split her knuckles on my cheekbone. It hurt her more than it hurt me and it pained me that no one taught her how to throw a proper punch.
The girls who worked at my club could hit better than that, and they had bouncers paid to do it for them.
“Let me go!” she shouted, trying to shake me off her while she threw up her other hand in an attempt at a left-handed punch.
I caught that one too.
“What’re you going to do, little girl? Hmm?” I asked, both of her hands trapped in min
