I open my mouth, but his eyes narrow, his head tilting to the side. Suddenly, he appears taller, stronger. His hand on my cheek turns into a handful of my jaw, his grip holding me still as he walks me backward and slams me against the wall.
Air freezes in my lungs, and I squeeze my eyes shut to swallow the pain.
"My wife isn't part of a petty gang, do you understand? My wife deserves more than to work under the tough ruling of a criminal organization just so she can survive."
"I don't want more," I squeak. "This is who I am, what I've always done. It's my life."
"Kayla, you are so incredibly unaware of your worth." His eyes bounce between mine, unable to grasp how I feel about this. But there's more, a plea for me to understand his point. "The way you handle the art of war deserves better than for you to focus on Kings' and NSC's pathetic issues. That would be a lack of esteem to your intelligence. I won't let you do that to
