He released her throat, pressed her against the wall, and gripped her shoulders tightly with both hands.
"Don't pretend to be pitiful with me. Let me tell you, there are plenty of people in this world worse off than you! Joan Harry, don't push me. If you can't let go of Sylvan Cheney, someday when I'm in a bad mood, I'll take you in front of him."
Jesse Rowan's tone was venomous, and his words were explosive and utterly vile.
Joan Harry struggled to breathe, like a fish on the verge of death.
Desperately seeking rivers, but only awaiting death in the desert.
Maybe because her neck had been strangled too long, her brain was in a state of oxygen deprivation, and no matter how venomous Jesse Rowan's words were, they all sounded trivial to her.
Once, she would still get angry, still feel fury.
Now, she seemed to think he was just a demon capable of anything.
