The memory of the soft sensation he felt when he once cupped that clear face flashed through his mind. The dizzying feeling when he had taken those supple lips into his mouth was still vivid.
It was only then that he truly understood what it meant for one's eyes to roll back. His fist flew without thinking.
There was nothing more to think about or say. He was determined to kill that dog in heat.
With the last shred of reason he desperately clung to, Winter thought only of safely getting that woman out of here.
"I'm sorry..." Winter's voice emerged, sounding as if she had just mustered up the courage to speak.
Hugo still didn't respond. He simply inhaled and exhaled slowly. His mind was in complete chaos.
He couldn't bear his anger—at the old man who couldn't control his lust-filled body, at that woman who recklessly acted brave without the strength to fend off a dirty hand, and at himself for chasing her all the way here and losing control like a madman.
